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Piers Anthony - Geodyssey 3 - H

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Geodyssey 3 -- Hope of Earth -- Piers Anthony -- (1997)
(Version 2003.02.25)
INTRODUCTION
THIS IS THE THIRD VOLUME of the Geodyssey series, following Isle of
Woman and Shame of Man, concerning evolution, history, the nature of mankind,
and the possible fate of the world. Each novel stands independently, so
readers need not fear to try this one if they haven't read the prior two, and
they don't have to read the volumes in order. Each book tells the story of a
seeming family as it follows its course in both the personal and historical
senses. The first novel traced three generations, or about seventy years; the
second followed one generation, or about twenty years. This third novel
follows six orphaned siblings -- three brothers, three sisters, of varying
ages -- as they grow up and love and marry in the course of about ten years of
their lives. The history they experience covers five million years. Thus they
are Australopithecine -- ape-man, if you will -- when they start, and modern
human beings when they finish. They are usually together, and their family
relationships are always the same. So for convenience in reading, they may be
considered to be the same folk, though that is not possible in reality. They
always speak the language of their local setting, so nothing is made of that
in the novel; for this purpose we don't care much whether it is ape-primitive
or contemporary English or future Spanish. Language itself is a defining
characteristic of mankind, as we shall see, but in this sense, one language is
about as good as another.
What is true in reality is that all human beings are related, all descending
from common ancestors and capable of interbreeding. The passions, fears,
desires, and joys of all are similar, though there is much variation.
So the family presented here is consistent in the human sense, and the
transient details of appearance, such as skin color, hardly matter. Just think
of the people herein as similar to those you know. They are, really. Yes, even
in their differences. Some are healthy and handsome, but most are imperfect.
So in this novel each major character has a difference or a problem. Sam is
convinced he must marry an ugly woman, and he does, though not the way he
expects. Flo gets really fat, and thus is considered quite attractive in one
culture, and ugly in another. Ned is brilliant, but gets seduced by a wrong
woman and suffers. Jes is lanky and plain, so prefers to play at being a man,
yet underneath wishes she could be a woman. Bry feels inadequate, yet is not.
And Lin is lovely -- and has a six-fingered hand. No, this is based on
reality; some children are born with extra fingers or toes, which are often
surgically removed early in their lives. One famous woman with this affliction
was Anne Boleyn, second wife of England's Henry VIII, mother of Elizabeth I.
It seems to be a shame to cut off a working finger, so Lin kept hers, but
always had to hide it, because people can be truly cruel to anyone who is
different. So these people have curses that are echoed by many of us, which
are really more shameful in our self-images than in reality.
This is a "message" series, and the message is that the qualities that enabled
our species first to survive in a difficult and dangerous world, and then to

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prosper, are now in danger of destroying that world. There is for example no
automatic check on population growth. Originally the panthers and other
predators did it, feeding on human babies as well as on other creatures.
There were also limits of food, so that when a species outgrew its resources
it starved. There was disease, at times devastating. Mankind has been as
successful as any species in overcoming such limitations, and now dominates
the planet, driving other species toward extinction. If this is not curtailed

sensibly, it will lead to a truly ugly finish, because the world is not
limitless.
However, those who prefer straight entertainment can skip the italicized
chapter introductions and endnotes and just read the ongoing story. The
permutations of history are endlessly fascinating, and challenge and love are
always in style.
Chapter 1 -- COMMUTER
Five million years ago, in the western arm of the Great Rift Valley in
Africa, the chimp that walked like a man was perfecting his stride.
Australopithecus afarensis was forced to forage on the dangerous open ground
because the forest had diminished and there was too much competition for the
resources of the trees. To do this, he had to lift his upper body up and
balance on his hind legs. The supposedly simple act of walking habitually on
two feet -- bipedalism -- entailed a complicated series of bodily adjustments.
The spine had to reverse part of its curve so that the head could be right
above the feet, the pelvis had to be reshaped to support a torso that would
otherwise sag, the feet had to straighten out the big toes and develop arches
for shock absorption, and the knees had to lock so that prolonged walking
would not wear them out. None of this developed quickly; probably at least a
million years were required. But for the purpose of this story, it is assumed
that the knees happened in a single mutation applying to the younger
generation of a small roving band. Thus for the first time these folk were
able to travel comfortably on two feet, and extend their range considerably.
But was bipedalism necessary? Why didn't mankind simply range out four-
footed, as the baboons did? Why undertake the formidable complications of a
change unique among mammals? This may at one time have been a close call. But
Australopithecus, having descended from the trees with his head set
vertically, had the ability to go either way, and there was one compelling
reason that two feet were better than four. It would have been better for the
baboons, too, had they been able to do it.
At this stage speech would have been extremely limited, with an assortment of
sounds perhaps emulating the animals they represented, and a few key
connecting words. But the expressions of chimpanzees in the wild are more
varied and useful than some may credit, and the brain of Australopithecus was
slightly larger than that of the chimp. So probably his vocabulary was larger
and more effective than the chimp's, though not by much.
SAM RANGED OUT ACROSS THE eerie barrens. He was the eldest juvenile male of
the band; soon he would be adult. But the adult members would not take him
seriously until he proved himself. So he had to survive alone for long enough
to prove his capability, and locate a good source of food; then he would be
allowed to help protect the band and to mate with all its grown females except
his mother. Mothers were funny about that; they would accept attention from
any male of any age except the one they knew best. So now he braved the
unfamiliar region, hoping there was something there. Part of the challenge was
nerve; it took courage to go out alone, and courage was one of the differences
between adults and juveniles, among the males, at least. He was nervous, but
refused to turn back until he found something.
The sun was hot, very hot. Normally the band folk found shelter in the middle
of the day, grooming each other's pelts, copulating, or merely snoozing. But
Sam didn't dare relax while alone, because there was no one to watch out for
him. A leopard could attack. Of course a predator could attack anyway,

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especially since Sam was alone, but was less likely to bother an alert person.
So he forged on despite the discomfort. The heat made him tired, and

he staggered, but wouldn't quit. He had to prove he was adult. Had to keep
going, no matter what.
He followed the known path to its end, then cast about for some animal trail.
Sam was not the band's smartest member, but he had a good eye for paths, and
that had always helped him get around. People paths were easy to follow, and
not just because they were close and familiar; the smell of people feet was on
them. Animal paths varied; they could be discontinuous, or pass under
brambles, or enter dangerous caves. But they were better than nothing, because
any path led somewhere, and it was more useful to go somewhere than nowhere.
Sometimes they led to water that wasn't otherwise easy to find. So he
continued along the animal paths, going wherever the animals went. Until at
last the ground became too dry and hard to show any path clearly, leaving him
uncertain. The only path was now the trail of scuff marks his feet left in the
dirt behind him. But of course that path led in the wrong direction.
The sun beat down on his fur, making it burningly hot. It was midday, and the
heat blurred his vision. He thought he saw pools ahead, but knew from
experience that it wasn't so. There was no water out here on a dry day like
this. The thought made him thirsty, but still he refused to turn back in
defeat. He was determined to find something, anything, and be an adult. So he
plowed on through the blur, trying to ignore the heat and his thirst.
He felt tired, then oddly light. His feet moved slowly, but hardly seemed to
touch the ground. It was as if they were detached from him, moving of their
own accord, carrying him along like some separate burden. His head seemed to
want to float from his shoulders. How long had he been walking? He didn't
know, but it felt like days. Everything was somehow different. But he just
kept going.
Something strange happened. The sun seemed to expand, becoming enormous.
It bathed him in its fierce light, making him dizzy. A dreadful foreboding
came, and then a horrible fear. Something terrible was happening:
The fiery fringe of the sun passed beyond him, enclosing him within its
territory. Great vague shapes loomed within it, threatening him, glaring with
eyes of flame and licking with tongues of smoke. Doom! Doom! they cried,
saying the sound of warning, of terror, of grief. Sam wanted to turn about, to
flee, but would not, though he knew it meant destruction. Anyway, he had no
path to follow, so would only get lost if he fled.
Then he was falling, falling, for a long time, the barren plain tilting around
him. He felt the shock of landing, but it was far away. He was down, and had
to get up, but somehow he could not. Something awful was going to happen if he
didn't flee, but his body would not move.
Why hadn't he fled back along his own path, while still on his feet?
Because he had been unable to admit defeat. Now he had suffered that defeat
anyway.
A long time passed. Then he discovered that the sun was down, and the cool of
evening was coming. He had to return home -- and he had failed to find
anything.
Sam got up. He was logy, and his head hurt, but he seemed merely bruised, not
injured. He brushed off his fur and started back, dejected, following his own
spoor until he could pick up a suitable animal trail. He had failed to find
food. He was not yet an adult.
He moved slowly back the way he had come, quiet because he lacked the vigor to
be noisy. The land darkened around him. Then he heard something, and paused,
looking.
Two warthogs were stirring in the bush. One grunted and snuffled at the other,
its projecting teeth-tusks gleaming in the twilight. Sam looked warily around
for a rock or stick he could use to try to beat the boar off, as there was no
nearby tree to climb. But the hog ignored him. It scrambled up, putting its

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forelegs on the back of the other, who was squealing in seeming protest,

and pulled in close. Oh -- they were mating. No threat there, as long as he
didn't try to interfere.
Mating. Which was what Sam wouldn't get to do, having been unsuccessful on his
mission. Dispirited, he walked on. He found increasingly clear paths, which he
could follow even in the darkness. So he would make it safely back, for what
little that was worth.
When he reached the camp, his sister Flo was the first to spy him. She was
almost as old as he, and would soon have to leave the band and find another
band, so she could mate and have a baby of her own. It would be sad to see her
go, for she was his closest companion and friend, but it was the way it was.
Flo ran to him, and hugged him. Her fur was sleek and fine. "Find?" she asked,
making the general purpose query sound.
"Doom," he said, repeating the horror of the sun, and shivering, though it was
not yet cool.
Now the other young folk clustered around, eager to know how he had done. They
did not understand doom, because he had returned safely. "Find!
Find!" they chorused.
So he tried to tell them what else he had seen, making the grunt and squeal of
the mating warthogs. They laughed. "Sam grunt ugh!" The implication was that
Sam wanted to mate with an ugly warthog.
But Flo did not laugh. Her face showed concern. She knew that he had sought
experience and status. She knew he had failed. She hugged him again, trying to
cheer him, but it was no good. Maybe the children were right. Maybe it was a
curse on him, to suffer disaster and humiliation.
Flo tried once more. She brought him a fruit to eat. This was unusual, because
normally sharing occurred only when a female mated with a male and took food
from him, or when a female gave her young child food. The two of them would
never mate, because they were band siblings, though neither was really a
child. Oh, they could mate, as some other siblings did, but were not inclined;
they were too close. He accepted the fruit, because he was hungry after his
day without eating. Then he went to his favored tree and climbed into it to
sleep. Maybe in the morning his shame of failure would hurt less fiercely, in
the manner a cut toe eased as it healed.
Two days later the group of elder children was foraging in a deep valley when
a storm threatened. They tended to forage together, because all of them were
in that awkward stage between weaning and maturity, too old to be cared for by
the adults, and too young to be adults themselves. Sam hated still being a
child, but until he went out alone again and found significant good food for
the band, he would not be accepted as adult. He couldn't do that yet, because
of the overwhelming feeling of doom his first attempt had left him with. He
seemed to be cursed, but he couldn't understand how or why.
They started to return to the safety of their camp, but the storm rushed in
too swiftly. The clouds swelled and hurled down their rain in a sudden deluge.
The drops were cold despite the heat of the air. They blasted the children and
the rocks, thickening into a torrent. The water sluiced through the narrow
cleft leading from the safe upper valley to the richer lower valley, making it
into a turbulent river. The group had to retreat from it, bowing their heads
before the onslaught; they could not pass that water.
Sam, staring at it, felt again the horror of his vision. "Doom," he said. The
sky itself was chasing him, trying to hurt him. Now he was with the others,
and it was attacking them all.
Flo heard him, despite the angry roar of the wind. She understood his
sentiment. "Flee," she said, saying the word for running away from danger.
Sam hesitated, because that meant leaving the known path. It was always
dangerous to leave the path when distant from the most familiar grounds, for
only the path knew the way home. Yet that path was clearly impassable; no hope

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there. So, reluctantly, he nodded.
Soon the group was walking away from the cleft, deeper into the valley, though
this was not a comfortable direction. There were animal paths that all of them
could trace, but they led in the wrong direction. The great wide plain beyond
was dangerous, especially at night, and they all feared it. Sam himself had
been lucky to return from his venture onto it; there had been others who never
came back. But it was not yet night, though the storm made it seem as dark;
they would be able to return once it passed and the water drained.
There was a loud cracking noise and a great flash of light behind them.
They all paused and turned to look. The storm was smiting the cleft!
Dirty water surged around their feet, as if it, too, was trying to escape.
Then it thinned, spreading out. The storm passed, leaving bands of vapor
rising into the sky.
They reversed course, walking back up the valley. But as they approached the
cleft, they paused, staring with confusion and consternation. The cleft was
gone! It had become a tumble of stone below a steep cliff. There was no way
they could climb up that sheer ridge.
"Doom," Sam muttered. His vision had been true.
Flo was more practical. "Around," she said, speaking a more difficult concept.
When there was something in the way, people went around it. They would go
around the mountain, and get home another way. Sam agreed, because he had no
alternative to offer.
They started out, walking swiftly, the two of them in the lead, the lesser
children following. First they had to get all the way out of the valley,
because its rocky ledges were impassable throughout. That turned out to be a
longer distance than it looked, because as the valley widened and the sides
curved away, more came into view. Fortunately there were good animal paths
here, making rapid walking feasible.
Three of the children were trailing. Sam saw that they were the bent-
knee ones. Most of them walked with straight knees, but some didn't. They
never had. It didn't make much difference around the home camp, where there
were always things to hold on to and places to rest, but now it did. The three
were tiring, and couldn't keep up.
Flo saw him looking, and glanced back herself. Then she looked forward.
He knew what she was thinking: they had a long way to go, to get around the
mountain, and if they didn't go fast enough, they could be caught out here by
night. Then the leopards would come, and the big snakes, and other things they
feared without knowing.
So they didn't dare go slow. The bent-knees would simply have to follow at
whatever pace they could, tracking the spoor of the others. Maybe they
wouldn't be too far behind when the way home was found. When night came.
When Sam next looked back, he didn't see the three laggards. That made him
feel uneasy, but he didn't know what else to do but keep moving on. He could
tell that Flo was similarly disturbed.
At last the valley opened out into the frighteningly broad plain of the
unknown. No one foraged alone this far out, because it was too far from their
safe retreat. Now they had to.
It was hot out here, with no shade. The sun was near the top of the sky, with
no clouds. Sam was wet with sweat, and he saw it matting the fur of the
others. His sense of doom returned; the sun was dangerous. But so was the
night, in the open.
There were bushes here, rich with ripe berries, and Sam recognized several
good tuber plants. Excellent foraging! But could they pause to eat? He looked
at Flo, and she looked at the sky, then shrugged. She glanced back again:
maybe if they remained here a while, the three lost children would catch up.
They ate the berries, which were rich and juicy. Not only did this feed

them, it allowed them to rest, and to cool. Had they known how good the

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foraging was out here, they might have braved it before.
Flo kept looking back the way they had come. She was hoping the bent-
knee children would catch up. But there was no sign of them. They had probably
returned to the head of the valley. Maybe they would find a way past the new
rubble and cliff. It was better to think that, than to think of what else
might happen to them.
Soon, somewhat restored, they resumed walking, this time not quite as fast,
because of the awful heat. The animal paths were good, and this helped.
The mountain curved on around, allowing them to head toward another great
valley. There were trees at its end, and it looked passable. In fact, they
discovered a people path leading there. Encouraged, they walked along it. Only
to encounter hostile folk.
As they approached the trees, several bent-legged people came out led by a
scowling man and a rather interesting woman. At first Sam thought the others
were coming out to welcome them, but when they got close the man made gestures
of striking with his fist and biting. Perplexed, Sam halted, and so did the
others with him. What was the matter?
"Who?" he called, saying the recognition word.
"Bub," the man said, frowning. He gestured to the woman. "Sis." She smiled,
but not nicely. Had she been a new member of the home band, it would have been
nice to breed with her, but she evidently had no interest in doing it with
strangers. Despite his fatigue, Sam regretted that.
"Sam," Sam said. He indicated Flo. "Flo." He indicated the four smaller
children. "Us." It was a formidable introduction, but he managed it.
Bub pointed toward the plain. "Go!"
Sam tried to explain. "Far," he said, indicating the valley beyond them.
That meant that they intended to go beyond the territory of this band, to
reach their own band.
"Go!" Bub repeated. He bent down to pick up a rock.
Sam recognized the challenge. He would have fought, had he been grown.
Had he not been hot and tired. Had there not been too many adults before him,
and only children behind him. But as it was, he had to retreat.
He turned, and the children turned with him, weary but knowing they had no
choice. Outsiders could not enter the territory of a hostile band without
getting beaten or killed. So they started to walk away.
All except Flo. "Bad," she said, for a moment standing up to Bub, letting him
know her sentiment.
Then something unexpected happened. Bub looked closely at Flo, sniffing, then
grabbed her. She screeched in protest, thinking he was attacking her. He was,
but not in the way she supposed. He wrapped his arms around her body, hauled
her up, and threw her down on the ground. This was easy for him to do, because
he was twice her size, being a grown male.
Sam leaped to Flo's defense, but another bent-knee male caught him and held
him, pinning his arms to his sides. The male might not be able to stride as
well as Sam on the plain, but he had more strength in his body than Sam did,
and Sam was helpless. The children didn't dare even voice a protest. They
could only watch what Bub was doing with Flo.
Bub dropped to the ground, holding Flo there. He hauled his body on top of
hers. She screeched again and struck at him, but her small arms hardly
affected his strong body. She lifted her head, snapping at him. Then he closed
one fist and struck her in the face, stunning her. She stopped screeching and
lay still, her arms and legs relaxing. He hauled his pelvis in close to hers
and jammed in between her spread legs.
Suddenly Sam recognized what Bub was doing. He was mating with her. Not in the
manner of a male of the home band, sharing joy with a grown female of the
band, but as an act of aggression against a foreign female. He had smelled

her dawning maturity and done it.
It was quickly over. Bub got up, leaving Flo lying on the ground, her limbs

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twitching. She turned her head from side to side, and groaned. She didn't know
exactly what had happened.
The one holding Sam let go. The others were holding stones they were ready to
throw. Sam went to Flo and put out one hand. "Go," he said, afraid that worse
was coming.
She groaned, recovering her senses. There was blood on her nose, dribbling
down the side of her face. Her eyes were wild. "Hurt," she said.
"Go," he repeated urgently. They had to get away from here, before the members
of the hostile band fell on them and killed them all. Sometimes it happened,
when band members got too far separated from their home band.
Flo evidently realized the danger. She took his hand, and he hauled her up.
She took an unsteady step, and he grabbed her shoulder, stabilizing her.
They walked away from the hostile band, and the children scurried along with
them, frightened.
A stone landed near them. Sam broke into a run, hauling Flo along, and the
children ran too. Soon they were out of range, because the bent-knees did not
pursue them.
They slowed, finding a good path, resuming their striding, which was the best
way to travel any distance. Sam looked back, but the hostile band members were
gone. They had simply driven off intruders, as bands tended to do. Had
Flo been older, they might have taken her captive, so that all the men could
mate with her, beating her until she stopped objecting. Females often didn't
seem as interested in mating as males were, so had to be encouraged. Sam had
seen it happen, when his band had intercepted a grown female of a neighboring
band who had strayed too far from her own folk. After every male was
satisfied, they had let her go, and thought no more of it. It was her own
fault for straying; no one had had any sympathy for her. If a strayed female
remained after the first round of mating, and the males liked her, she would
be allowed to join the band as a member. Then she wouldn't be beaten unless
she refused to mate with a male who wanted to. That was how it was.
But this time it was different. Flo was young, and she was his friend.
She had not really strayed or left her band; she had been cut off from it by
Sam's bad fortune. She definitely had not sought to mate yet. He wished this
hadn't happened to her. He wished he could kill Bub. But all he could do was
flee.
"Doom," Flo said, trying to wipe the blood from her face. Her nose was swollen
and she looked awful.
"Doom," he echoed, realizing that she thought this was part of the curse he
had seen. Maybe it was. So it was his fault. Everything bad was happening
since that vision in the sun.
They went on, their pace slowing, because the path was fading, the children
were tired, and so was Flo, weakened by the attack on her. The sun was no
longer beating down as hotly; it was hidden by a cloud. That helped, but not a
lot.
They rounded another swell of the mountain, and entered another valley.
But soon the band of this valley spied them, and charged out, screaming
threats. They quickly reversed and walked back into the plain. The bent-knees
pursued them.
This was trouble. Was every valley going to be like this? If so, they would
never get home! They were already very hot and tired.
Worse, the sun came out again, heating their fur. Sam remembered what had
happened when he kept walking into the sun. The sun would eat them all.
But one thing about the bent-knees was that they had even more trouble in the
sun. Sam didn't know why, but it was the case. So he did something desperate.
He found a new path and led the way not around to the next valley,

where there might be more enemies, but directly into the breadth of the hot
plain.
Flo and the children did not question him. They just plodded on, trusting him

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to lead them somewhere.
When the hostile band saw where the group was going, it turned back. The heat
and fatigue were just too much.
Sam looked ahead -- and saw something new. There was an outcropping of rock
across the plain. Maybe that would do for a camp. So he chose another path and
headed for it, striding more slowly now that there was no pursuit.
The slower speed was better for all of them; they walked straight-legged and
had no trouble despite their youth and tiredness. This was good, because the
rocks were far away.
But when they finally approached the rocks, something came out from them.
There were several hunched shapes, moving swiftly. Sam couldn't tell what they
were. Should he turn back? If they were people, they might throw rocks or mate
with Flo again. If they were animals, they might try to eat the whole group.
He paused, considering. The day was now late; they would not be able to return
to the mountain before nightfall, even if they had the strength. So it was
better to go on to the rocks and see what was there, hoping it wasn't too bad.
He moved on, and the others were with him, crowding closer because they heard
the shapes ahead. They were afraid, and so was he.
Then there was a gust of wind, bringing a scent: baboon. This was a baboon
lair.
Ordinarily people did not tangle with baboons. The beasts were strong and
fast, and could be vicious. But they weren't as smart as people. Sometimes
they could be bluffed.
He had seen bandsmen drive off baboons by throwing stones and making a lot of
noise. It could work here, if there weren't too many baboons.
"Rocks," he said, casting about until he found a good one to pick up.
The children were uncertain, but did as he said. When all of them had stones
in each hand, he led the charge. He lifted his arms and screamed. "Yah-
yah-yah-yah!" He ran right toward the rocks.
Baboons were dangerous! Flo hesitated, and so did the children, but they were
afraid to be left behind. So in a moment they joined in, screaming in a chorus
and waving their arms.
The baboons looked at the charging group, and ran the opposite way.
There turned out to be only four of them. This must be a mere fragment of
their band, temporarily isolated from it; otherwise this charge would never
have worked. When one showed signs of turning back, Sam hurled one of his
stones at it. The stone missed, but did spook the creature, and it hurried on
after the others. Soon they were gone.
Sam's knees felt weak. It had worked! They had bluffed out the animals.
Maybe the baboons had thought that any creatures who screamed and charged like
that had to have many more of their own kind behind them. Maybe baboons
couldn't count. Regardless, it was a great relief.
The outcropping turned out not to be large, but it did offer a raised section
shielded by surrounding boulders. It would be hard for the predators of the
night to attack. Sam carried the heaviest stones he could manage, to shore up
the retreat, and made a den under the overhang of the largest rock section. It
wasn't as good as home, but it would do.
Night was coming. They found good berries all around the outcropping, because
no people had foraged there recently, so they were able to eat well before
darkness closed. There was a stream not too far distant, so they were able to
slake their thirst. Then they entered the den and huddled together for sleep.
The children did not seem to be too concerned; they trusted Sam to

protect them. They were very tired, and sank rapidly into slumber.
Flo tried to sleep too, beside him, but she was groaning softly. Her bashed
nose was probably hurting. Sam reached out to stroke her hair, and she settled
down. Grooming always made a person feel better. But who was there to comfort
Sam?
The key is heat. The African savanna was hot, and creatures that moved around

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too much in the heat of the day risked heatstroke. Antelopes have special
networks of veins and heat exchangers associated with the nose to cool the
blood for the brain; baboons, like cats and dogs, pant, and have enlarged
muzzles that facilitate this. But mankind's ancestors had neither device;
their noses were too recessed and puny to make panting worthwhile. They had to
find another way. That way was bipedalism. Creatures who became vertical
presented less than half as much surface area to the blazing sun as those who
remained horizontal, and that made a significant difference in heat
absorption. So it paid to become bipedal, if they went out into the burning
plain at noon. Not just occasionally being on two feet, but constantly, while
moving as well as while standing still. Because the beat of the deadly sun was
steady. Since this was where chimpanzees were not foraging, because of that
heat, it was richer harvesting for bipedal Australopithecus. Food was the
great incentive; a species that might otherwise have been squeezed to oblivion
was able to survive, here on the fringe of the Garden of Eden.
But it was dangerous on the plain, especially at night. So it was necessary to
have a safe retreat for sleeping, and forage only by day, in the heat of the
sun that restricted quadrupedal predators more than bipeds. It is unknown
where Australopithecus slept, but it surely was not on the dangerous plain or
by a treacherous river. Probably it was in caves or on ledges that were
difficult for predators to reach. This was a problem, because the best
foraging seems to have been on the open plain, far from the mountains where
there were safe places to sleep. How could early hominids have both safety and
food?
The answer seems to be that they became commuters. Each morning they left
their rocky dens and strode across the terrain to suitable places to eat.
Each evening they returned to the dens. Since the two regions might be many
miles apart, efficient traveling was essential. Hence the importance of paths
-- and knees. Bending knees were like constant running, fatiguing to the legs
and wastefully expending energy at slow speeds. Lockable knees enabled mankind
to stride longer while generating less muscle heat. That made commuting in the
heat of the day feasible. It wasn't necessary to seek the shade of isolated
trees during the worst heat. Mankind, like mad dogs, could walk in the noonday
sun. Thus mankind colonized what other apes could not: the open noon savanna.
That greatly extended his foraging range, and was a key survival advantage. It
wasn't that he preferred the heat, it was that he could handle it slightly
better than rival creatures could, so it paid him to do so.
But becoming bipedal was only the beginning. This turned out to be an
extremely significant change, setting Australopithecus on the course that was
to lead to modern man, in ways the following chapters will explore. The one
most relevant to heat adaptation is the loss of body fur. Though standing
vertical cut down the heat from the noon sun, it was at first a marginal
advantage; other creatures did have brain-cooling systems. But it enabled
mankind to shed that fur, because the bulk of the body was no longer exposed
to the sun's rays during the worst of the day. The relatively bare skin (hair
remains on it, just much shorter and thinner) was a more efficient surface for
sweat to affect, and mankind developed the most effective cooling system among
mammals. Why was this necessary, when bipedalism and lockable knees had
already enabled him to survive nicely? Because mankind was later to develop an
organ that generated extra heat, and demanded extra cooling, lest it suffer:

the giant brain. It probably couldn't have happened on four feet.
Chapter 2 -- SCAVENGER
About two and a half million years ago, Australopithecus gave way to
Homo habilis, the "handy" man, who was larger in body and brain, fully
bipedal, and probably lightly furred. His occasional use of stones and sticks
to defend himself against other animals was becoming more regular; he had the
foresight to make collections of rocks where he might need them. In fact, he
probably used a variety of wooden tools or weapons, which are unknown to

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archaeologists because they left no permanent residue; stones may have been
incidental to his life-style. He still foraged, but the seasonal variation of
the availability of fruits and tubers and grubs made for some lean times. His
larger brain was also more demanding for protein. So Habilis had a problem: he
needed a reliable source of richer food. The obvious source was meat, but that
presented formidable problems. Habilis lacked the ability to catch and kill
large animals, so had to go after the kills of others. That meant coming into
conflict with leopards, hyenas, or lions: no pleasant business. The chances
were that by the time he located and reached a fresh kill, virtually all the
good meat was gone. There would be little remaining but gristle and bones.
Habilis found an answer. It probably took hundreds of thousands of years, but
for convenience of illustration we shall assume that there was a single early
breakthrough accomplished by a very smart individual. The setting is the east
Rift Valley of Africa.
JES WALKED BESIDE NED, FOLLOWING their two elder band siblings. Sam was in the
lead, as always, and Flo following.
Flo had a baby in her belly. At first it hadn't seemed so, but now she was fat
in the middle, and she tired easily. She was always hungry, too, because by
the time she reached a berry patch, the others had already picked it over.
Sometimes Sam took her with him to a good patch, and growled off the others so
that she could eat, but usually he didn't think of it. He was too worried
about how they would survive since being cursed with isolation, and about the
vision he had had of warthogs copulating, suggesting that he was destined to
mate with an ugly woman. Jes knew about all this, having seen it happening and
overheard it being told. The elders thought she didn't understand, but she had
seen the ways of things in the tribe, and knew what was what. She had heard
Sam's awful vision, and she had seen Flo get raped by the hostile foreign band
chief.
When they had first been separated from their band, and had to forage alone,
Flo had tried to help the younger ones. Now the two youngest children were
trying to help her. Ned was still not a man, small for his age and not
aggressive, but he was smart and quick with his hands. Jes was big for a girl,
and homely, and knew it; she would not be popular when she became a woman. The
two of them tended to stay together, neither snubbing the other; they might
have mated when grown, if they hadn't been band siblings. Jes knew that no
other band would treat her as well as this group of band siblings did. As well
as Flo had. They had known each other all their lives, and looked out for each
other. So when Flo's form and strength diminished, Jes saw her as closer to
herself in nature, and associated more frequently with her. Flo was a woman,
and Jes was a large child, but Flo was not in a position to protest.
On this day they traveled far in the heat, following the best animal paths and
marking their trail so there would be no hesitancy on their return, only to
discover that the good berry patch had been savaged and was useless.
Saber-toothed cats had made a kill here, dragging down a beast, and in the
process flattening the berries. They had come here for nothing. What the cats

hadn't eaten, the scavenging hyenas had; a hyena skulked away as the band
approached. Obviously it was a laggard, and largely sated, or it would have
stood and fought them. Not even the berry squishings remained; the ants were
finishing them off.
But the siblings made what they could of it. The good meat was gone, but there
were still some bits of flesh sticking to the joints and tendons. Ned had a
small stone with a sharp edge he carried with him; now he used that edge to
cut away some of the meat left by the animals' teeth. The two smallest
children simply put their faces down and chewed directly on the bones,
gleaning what little they could.
Ned handed Flo a small string of meat he had severed. She thanked him with a
smile and took it. Jes knew it was tough, but Flo had good teeth, and it was
clearly much better than nothing. Flo had helped the rest of them so much when

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she could, that it was natural for them to help her when they could.
Ned picked up a bone and looked at it. Jes followed his gaze. This bone had
been crushed, probably by the powerful jaws of the hyena, so that it had split
open. Jes smiled; that animal must have been really hungry, to chew on a bare
bone. What sustenance was there in bone?
But Ned wasn't satisfied. He poked a finger into the split bone. It was damp
inside, and reddish. He sniffed it. Jes watched, having nothing better to do
at the moment.
"Hyena," Ned said. "Food."
Maybe a bare bone was food for the hyena, but it wasn't for people.
Their teeth were not nearly as strong as those of the hyena, or any other
predator. They would merely get aching teeth if they tried to eat that bone.
But Ned still wasn't satisfied. "Why chew?" he asked.
"Meat in?" Jes asked.
Flo laughed. Of course the meat was on the outside, not the inside. But
Ned didn't laugh. "Inside," he repeated, shaking the bone. A bit of reddish
stuff fell out.
Jes snatched it up and put it in her mouth. She chewed, smiling. There was
something edible in the bone. The taste was strange, but it seemed to be like
meat.
Now Ned got serious. He looked around until he found a large rock with a flat
surface. He found a smaller rock, the kind good for throwing, and hefted it in
one hand. He put the bone on the large rock, then smashed the small rock down
on it. What was he trying to do?
The bone bounced off the rock. Ned put it back, and bashed it again. Of course
it bounced off again, so this time Jes grabbed it by the end and held it in
place for him. She didn't know what he had in mind, but he was their smartest
member, so she might as well help him do it. Ned smiled, thanking her, and
bashed it once more. Jes felt the shock, but it didn't hurt, and the bone
stayed in place. So Ned bashed again. And again. Finally he managed to crush
it so that the split in the end widened. He wedged with a narrower stone,
until the bone opened into two parts.
They peered in. There was more of the reddish stuff. Ned pulled at it with his
fingers, and it came out in a soft muddy mass. He put it to his mouth. He
chewed. Then he smiled, and offered it to Flo. She was doubtful, so he offered
it to Jes.
Jes already knew it was edible, though odd. She took it and bit into the
softness. She took another bite, liking it better. It was definitely food.
Then, catching Ned's warning glance, she paused. He didn't want her to eat it
all.
Jes handed the rest of it to Flo, because she was plainly hungry too, and
needed food more than any of the rest of them. The woman tasted it, bolder now
that she had seen Jes eat it with evident pleasure. Then she ate it slowly,
becoming reassured. They had indeed found food in the oddest place,

inside the bone. Jes had never imagined anything like that. Only someone as
smart as Ned would ever have thought of it.
Flo got up and went to Sam, who had been chewing on a joint, not paying
attention. Sam was their strongest member, and a good guy, but not the
smartest person. "Food in," she said, pointing to another bone. But he looked
blank.
Ned got a larger bone and put it on the rock. He smashed at it with the
smaller rock, but it was too tough to crack. So Jes got help. "Sam," she said.
"Do."
It took a while to make Sam understand, and Jes and Ned had to demonstrate
several times with smaller bones, but finally Sam took the rock from Ned and
smashed it down hard on the bone. The bone cracked open, and the reddish stuff
showed inside. Ned pried it out and gave it to Sam. Sam tasted it, and his
face lighted. "Food!"

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After that they cracked open all the bones they could, and all of them ate the
stuff inside. It was their first really good meal in several days.
The next several days they traveled and foraged as usual, following their
familiar paths, but now they had a new awareness: there was good food to be
had at predator kill sites. They had ignored or avoided such sites before, but
now they looked for them. The best early indication was the vultures; if they
were circling, there was a carcass below. They were easy to see in the sky. So
when the gross birds signaled a find, within striding range, the six of them
set out in that direction. This time, knowing that they could encounter
predators, they carried staffs. These were long poles fashioned from sapling
trees, handy for support when walking became tiresome, and more useful when
baboons attacked. Stones were good, but there might not be enough good ones in
the vicinity. They had caches of stones in convenient places, but they could
not anticipate exactly where the kills would occur, and stones were too heavy
to carry along with them all the time. A carried staff, however, was an
effective weapon.
It turned out to be a wise move, because the kill was recent and a small pride
of big tusked cats was still there. Sated cats seldom attacked, but the people
didn't care to risk it. So they settled down to wait for the cats to finish
and depart, keeping their staffs ready in case a cat decided to rout them.
This was a region with tubers, so they found smaller sticks to use to dig the
tubers out of the ground. Ned used his sharp-edged stone to make points on the
ends of their digging sticks, so that they worked better. Then, thoughtfully,
he started carving a point on the end of his staff. Jes, seeing that, had him
sharpen hers too.
Several hyenas appeared, and settled down to wait similarly, on the opposite
side of the carcass. They knew better than to try to drive the cats off,
because it seemed that hyenas did know the difference between one and several,
but they would fight any lesser creatures for the rights of first scavenging.
Fortunately the cats soon moved on without attacking. Now the party of people
walked in on the carcass. But so did the hyenas. There were six of them, so
they were a force equivalent to that of the people.
This was where the staffs came in. They were good for fending off such
creatures. Normally it was just a matter of holding the staff out ahead,
crosswise, so that it was hard for a creature to pounce and bite without
getting blocked. But they could be swung hard to deliver painful blows. And
now, Jes saw, Ned was holding his staff with the sharpened end pointing
forward, like a tusk of a saber-toothed cat. That could be more effective. She
pictured what it would feel like, if she were a hyena, trying to spring at a
pointed staff, and maybe getting stabbed in the snout. She winced. She would
surely back off. But animals weren't as smart as people; they might see it

differently.
The hyenas prowled around, considering. They were hungry; they wanted those
bones. They were formidable fighters. But they didn't like fighting aggressive
creatures, and they didn't understand the staffs. So they were cautious.
The people advanced on them in a tight formation bristling with staffs.
One hyena decided that staffs were not lions, and charged. This was the test.
It came right at Jes. Before she knew it, her staff was thrusting out,
striking the creature on the nose and drawing blood. Then Sam's staff came
down on its head, hard. The hyena scrambled back, hurting.
But another moved forward. Again Jes's staff thrust out to intercept it,
knocking it on the ear, scraping the fur. It snarled and backed off. The
staffs were working!
Finally the hyenas lost their nerve, and loped away, leaving the bones to the
seemingly stronger force.
Jes felt weak with relief. Had the animals realized that the group consisted
of four children, one weak woman with a baby in her belly, and only one strong
man, they would have charged and perhaps prevailed. Staffs were good, but not

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that good. For one thing, if a staff got knocked to the side, a hyena could
get in a good bite without penalty. One bite would be more than enough; their
jaws were horribly strong.
Yet during the actual fight, she had not been very much afraid. Her weapon had
led the way, striking as if of its own volition. She had been thrilled to feel
the contact with the flesh of the enemy, and feel the shock of the blow in her
hands. Sam had fought more effectively, having far more mass and muscle, but
Jes had done her part. She was a fighter too.
They had won the carcass. But this was an exposed place, and a stronger force
could come at any time. More hyenas could appear, augmenting the original
group, making them bold again, or a large pack of dogs could spy them. The
dogs couldn't crack open the bones, but they could scatter them widely as they
chewed on them for their external bits of meat. So it wouldn't be smart to
settle down to crack open the bones and eat the marrow here, because trouble
was bound to come before they got into many of the tough ones.
They had known this when they set out for this site.
They took rocks and bashed at the joints connecting the bones, breaking them
apart. They collected all the best bones, wrapped their arms around bundles of
them, and carried them toward the nearby river. That was safer, because most
predators did not like to fight in the water, especially when there were
crocodiles there. But staffs would drive away crocodiles too, if the animals
weren't too hungry. They had a large cache of stones there, making it far more
defensible. The whole business was somewhat chancy, but the reward was great:
an excellent meal that would invigorate them for days. Jes knew that Flo,
especially, appreciated it, because the first meal of marrow had strengthened
her enormously, and she had lived and slept better after it.
They carried the bones to the river, where they drank deeply and set up the
stones to crack them open. All of them worked at it, though the two youngest
children weren't able to do it by themselves, and needed help. The inner meat
was delicious; they all had rapidly developed a taste for its richness.
At last, sated, they marched back to their home cave, following their marked
path so that there were no missteps. There they lay down and slept, though it
was not yet night. They rarely ate here, because it was too much work to haul
food all the way back from the plain. But they did have a pile of stones by
its entrance, and a number of staffs inside. They felt secure here.
Jes was especially pleased. Their experiment with the vultures was a success;
they had located a fresh kill, and gotten all the marrow from it.
Animals were always getting killed, so there were likely to be more such

opportunities on other days. In between they could forage, as they always had.
Their situation had improved. Because Ned had figured out that there was good
food in bones.
Jes woke when Flo got up early and left the home cave. Jes, sensitive to her
sister's condition, got up and followed her. Flo had evidently thought to go
alone, because of what she had to do, but seemed to be glad to have her
younger sibling along. Flo was heavy on her feet, and the descent from the
high cave was precarious despite the clear path they had made. Paths were
good, very good, but if they made the one to their lair too easy, other
animals might use it. Like hyenas. But with Jes helping her, Flo made it down
without mishap.
"Baby come," Jes said as they walked out onto the plain, holding their staffs.
"Baby come," Flo agreed. "Keep no."
Jes was surprised. "Keep no?"
"Need man," Flo said.
Because a baby was just too much to handle alone, Jes realized. Flo might die
trying to maintain it, and the baby would die too. But if she threw it away,
Flo could grow strong again, and live. Jes understood another reason
Flo didn't really want to keep the baby: it had been put in her by the rape.
It seemed to take a man to put a baby in a woman, and the baby of a bad man

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was not worthwhile.
They followed the path to the dying place, where old people were left when
they stopped walking and breathing, safely away from their normal sleeping and
foraging regions. This distance stopped the smell, and allowed the dead to be
forgotten quickly. Jes didn't see any bones lying around, but she wasn't
looking for them. The hyenas and dogs would have scattered them anyway. She
didn't much like death when it happened to people.
Flo found a by-path leading to a forested section, and within that region was
a pleasant grassy glade. This was suitably private and comfortable.
She put her hands on the trunk of a small tree at the edge of the glade, and
held on to it, supporting herself. She spread her feet wide, straddling a
declivity between two large roots. She squatted, letting her hands slide down
the tree. Then she began to breathe deeply and push her breath out slowly
under great pressure.
Jes stood somewhat awkwardly, not knowing what to do. This process frightened
her, but she wanted to know about it. She knew that babies came out of people,
but had never actually seen it happen. Was it like defecating? It did seem to
be the same general region of the body. That was where the bad man had put it
in.
For some time, nothing seemed to happen. Flo continued to squat and breathe,
facing the tree. Then she started pushing harder, and the cleft between her
legs widened.
Suddenly there was a rush of fluid from her, splashing on the ground.
Alarmed, Jes stepped forward, but Flo didn't seem to be concerned. Her eyes
were closed, and she was still breathing heavily, bearing down. It didn't seem
to be blood, so maybe it was all right.
Flo began to groan, and the groans rose in pitch to become small screams, but
still Jes didn't know what to do. She stood on one foot and then on the other,
as if she could walk to wherever she needed to be to help.
The screams faded. Flo opened her eyes. "Moss," she said, as if this were
routine.
Jes ran around the glade, gathering up handfuls of the spongy moss that grew
at the bases of trees. She brought back an armful. "Where?" she asked.
"Under."
So she dumped it under Flo's spread bottom, and straightened it,

realizing that it was to cushion the fall of the emerging baby. The baby would
be left here to die, but maybe Flo didn't want to hurt it directly. Jes could
understand that; the idea of hurting a baby appalled her.
As Jes finished, Flo started breathing deeply again. Jes remained on her
knees, not knowing whether to retreat. Flo bore down, screaming -- and her
cleft widened into a circle. Something dark appeared in it, pushing through.
It was the baby's head! Jes reached out to catch the baby, so it wouldn't fall
headfirst on the ground. Flo screamed again, and heaved, and the head pushed
slowly through. It seemed impossible that the hole could open wide enough for
a whole baby to pass, but it was happening. Then, much faster, the rest of the
baby came, dropping into Jes's hands. It was so warm and wet and slippery that
she almost dropped it; she grabbed harder, and must have hurt it, because it
shuddered and then gulped and began to cry.
"Cut," Flo gasped, still holding on to the tree.
Now Jes saw the cord extending from the baby's belly back up into Flo.
She laid the baby down in the damp moss and brought out her bit of sharp
stone. She sliced it across the cord several times until the cord separated.
Then, remembering what she had heard, she looped the length of cord around and
knotted it near the baby's little belly.
Flo, meanwhile, hauled herself up, took a few steps to another tree, then
strained again. More was coming out of her, and now it looked like blood.
Jes started to get up, but Flo cried, "No!" So Jes took some dry moss and used
it to mop and clean the baby, wiping the blood and waxy smears off it. Now she

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realized that it was a girl, tiny but perfectly formed. How awful to leave her
here to die! But she reminded herself why: Flo had no mate, and their band was
weak, and so they could not support a child. If she kept it, the baby would
die, and Flo might die too, trying to nurse it when she was unable to forage
enough to feed herself. That would hurt them all. So it had to be left here.
Jes hoped they would not be able to hear its crying, from the home cave.
Jes cleaned the tiny feet, and saw a mark between the first and second toes of
the left foot. It looked like a bit of leaf caught there, and she tried to
clear it out, but it was actually a discoloration of the skin. Well, no one
would notice it, there. Not that it mattered, in a baby destined to die. But
it was sad, somehow, to think of trying to hide a baby's blemish, and it not
living long enough for it to matter. Jes felt her tears starting. She wished
that she could take the baby, but knew that it would be even worse for her to
try, because she had no breasts and couldn't nurse it.
Flo finished her business, and cleaned herself off with some other moss.
She came over to look once at the baby. She was crying too. Then she turned
around and walked away, back along the path.
Jes took one more longing look at the baby, then got up and followed
Flo. They cried together as they returned to the cave. As they came in sight
of it, Flo paused to wipe her fur and face clean. Then she put a neutral
expression on her face and marched on. Jes did the same.
But as they were about to enter, Flo stopped. Her tears flowed again.
"Can't," she said, and turned.
Jes didn't argue. She followed Flo back to the glade, secretly relieved.
Maybe she could help forage for the baby. Maybe it would be her child too. At
least it wouldn't die. Not right away.
But when they came up to the place, the baby was gone. The stained moss
remained, but there was no sign of the tiny girl. Someone or something had
already taken her.
Flo uttered a muted sob and searched all around the glade, but there was
nothing. That meant that a person must have taken the baby, because an animal
would have devoured her, leaving blood and bones. So maybe the little girl
would live after all, having a mother who could support her.
At last Flo gave up her fruitless search and turned again for the cave.

She was crying, but not in quite the same way as before. There was a tinge of
hope in it. Jes hoped that hope was justified.
Homo habilis had made a fundamental shift of lifestyle. He had found a more
reliable source of high-energy food, but it required special abilities.
He needed to spot fresh carcasses, and to reach them promptly enough to get
whole bones, and to crack those bones open. This meant fighting off some of
the other predators, and represents the first consistent use of tools we know
of: the stone used on the bones. Probably stones were the least of his
technology, as noted before; wooden tools and weapons would have been far
easier to make and use. Would a sharp stone actually have been used to cut an
umbilical cord? That is a stretch, but a creature smart enough to carve meat
might do it. Scavenging also meant carrying, so as to be able to complete the
operation safely. Because bipedalism freed the hands for such things, it was
possible; but more intelligence was needed for such organization. There was
now a greater premium on brains. That meant the body's mechanisms for cooling
body and brain had to become stronger. Thus sweating increased, and fur
thinned further, as it could afford to do as long as the species remained
vertical, catching the wind while avoiding the noon sun. The prior "Geodyssey"
volumes assumed the validity of the Aquatic hypothesis, wherein a period in
water caused mankind to shed his fur and develop subcutaneous fat; this one
does not. Mankind appears to have become furless in order to cool his
burgeoning brain. But there were further complications of both bipedalism and
loss of fur, leading to other remarkable developments.
Chapter 3 -- TRIPLE PLOY

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When mankind became bipedal, he surely didn't anticipate the chain of
consequences. A major one related to the female of the species. A baby takes
perhaps twice as long to learn to walk on two feet as it would for four feet,
and this extends the time it is dependent on its mother. She had to carry it
much of the time, nursing it as she held it in the crook of her arm. The
larger brain and slower development of the child extend that time of extreme
dependency further. This places a burden on the mother. As the species
progressed, this burden increased -- and eventually human women started having
babies at shorter intervals than other species did, so that there could be
several children dependent on one mother. Nursing drained her physically, and
she had to take in more nourishment herself to provide for her baby, while
having such a family restricted her from going out to forage. At the same
time, Homo habilis progressed, about two million years ago, to Homo erectus,
with a division of labor occurring. The male went out to hunt and fight; the
female foraged and took care of the children. It was no longer possible for a
mother to raise her child by herself. She had to have the regular help of a
male, for protection and food for herself and her children. She may have
needed a monogamous relationship, or at least a way to be sure of the regular
presence of a male, in addition to the support of the tribe. While it made
reproductive sense for a father to facilitate the survival and progress of his
children, this was not a notion that came naturally to the average male. His
reproductive strategy had always been to sow his seed as widely as possible,
sniffing out the fertile females, and leave the care of the offspring to their
mothers. But it made little reproductive sense to sire many offspring who died
because the mothers were unable to support them. Thus it was necessary for the
woman to find a way to compel the man's constant attention despite his
polygamous instinct, and necessary for the man to modify his ways somewhat.
This was, in its subtle fashion, the onset of a battle of the sexes that
continues today. Men and women are not really at war, but they do have

fundamentally different strategies of survival and reproduction, and
compromise is essential. For this engagement, the woman set aside the
compulsion of periodic pheromones and developed perhaps the most formidable
arsenal of visual, emotional, and behavioral devices any species has seen. It
was the triple ploy.
New evidence is pushing the dates of Homo erectus much further back, as far as
1.8 million years ago in China and southeast Asia. Scavenging may have led
naturally to hunting -- why wait for your carcass? -- and hunting enabled
mankind to obtain food anywhere he went, as long as there were animals who
could live on vegetation that human beings couldn't eat. So this change of
strategy may have opened much of the rest of the world to mankind. However,
those groups that lacked the numbers or ability to hunt effectively could
still have done well enough by scavenging, the old stand-by, so probably
Erectus did both. If the forward fringe of settlement advanced just one mile
per decade, in a hundred thousand years it would extend 10,000 miles. Thus
Homo erectus could have colonized virtually all of habitable Asia in that
time, and may have done so. The setting is Java, 1,500,000 years ago.
FLO FOLLOWED THE PATH EVERY day to the glade, but there was never anything.
Jes went with her, understanding her need. But in time they had to give it up.
The baby was gone.
Sam brought meat and shared it with the others, and Flo recovered her
strength. She put more time into foraging, and the foraging was good, and they
all did well. Still, she knew that they would not have done well if she had
kept her baby; she would have been weaker, and would have needed more, and it
would have put an unconscionable strain on the band. She felt guilty for their
success, purchased at the price of her baby.
But they were too small in number to be a band. They were six band siblings
who had gotten separated from their original band, and now they had their own
cave in the vicinity of several other bands. Their time spent struggling to

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survive on their own had bound them together in a way they had not been
before. Sam and Flo were grown, and Ned and Jes were growing, while
Bry and Lin remained children. They were like a large family, and they all
looked out for each other, and they didn't want to separate.
In some bands, the males went out to seek females in other bands, and joined
those bands. In others, females went out to the other bands. But the six of
them had resolved to remain together, bringing both males and females in, if
they could. They had a good location, with adequate foraging and hunting, and
they knew how to crack open the bones to gain the most from the animals they
killed. But they needed more members, so that no other band could come and
drive them off.
Sam was big and strong, and had gotten more so recently, but he had a problem.
He believed he was cursed to mate with an ugly female, because he had seen
ugly animals mating. So he wasn't eager to find a woman. But Flo knew that
there had to be mates, because they could never be a true band without couples
and children. One day when she was foraging for roots with the others, while
Sam was out searching for a carcass to scavenge, she brought up the subject.
They were of course busy eating what they found and dug out, but since more
time was spent in searching and digging than in eating, there was time for
words.
"Sam need woman," she said, speaking each word carefully so that they could
understand. When anyone spoke too rapidly, the words ran in together and
became incomprehensible, so time had to be taken.
Little Lin put her fingers in her mouth, stretching it wide. The effect was
exaggerated because of her deformed hand. "Ugly woman," she said.
"No," Flo said firmly. "No ugly."
Ned agreed. "Sam fear ugly. No mate."

"Tell Sam," Lin said.
That was the problem. Sam believed his vision, and did not listen when
Flo or anyone else tried to tell him that he didn't have to mate with an ugly
woman.
"Flo need man," Ned said.
"Man no mate Flo," Flo said with resignation. She knew that she was cursed,
because she had been raped and then lost her baby. What man would want her
after that?
"Man mate Flo," Ned said.
"Tell Flo," Bry said, imitating Lin's tone, and the two laughed.
"Man no," Flo repeated.
Ned faced her. "Tell man baby no," he said seriously. "Man know no."
Flo was astonished. It had never occurred to her that the people of other
bands wouldn't know of her problem. But smart Ned was right: How would a man
know, if she didn't tell him? If the others didn't tell him? Her body had
resumed its early form, and her cleft had narrowed, so that there was no sign
that a baby had passed through it. "Tell no?" she asked, looking at each of
the others. This was a phenomenal new concept: that of pretending to what
wasn't true. Always before, what wasn't true had no meaning; could it now have
benefit?
"Tell no!" they chorused. That meant that none of them would tell. She would
seem to be an ordinary woman, without the curse of a lost baby. Ned had found
the way.
They discussed it further, as they completed their foraging, and decided that
Sam and Flo should go out together to look for mates from another band.
Sam should have no trouble, because of his evident size and strength, but even
without the curse, Flo would surely find it difficult, because she wanted to
bring a man back here. So she was resigned to likely failure. But she would
make the effort, because it was a pretext to make Sam come with her, so he
could find a woman. He wouldn't go alone; despite his size and power, he
lacked certainty by himself, and was largely helpless. Some woman might talk

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him into joining her tribe.
As they returned from their foraging, with a few extra roots to share with
Sam, they saw him approaching the cave with an armful of bones. He had found a
carcass, and brought back the leg bones for them to crack open and share. So
it would be a good evening.
Flo broached the subject after they had eaten all the marrow. "Sam find woman.
Flo find man. Sam Flo go."
"No," he said.
"Yes!" all the others cried.
Sam was physically strong, but had trouble with intellectual debate. So he
shrugged.
Next day the two of them set out. Ned was left in charge of the cave; he was
clever at finding ways to make it difficult for any stranger to enter. He
could balance rocks so that they fell at the slightest touch, landing on
tender feet, and he was adept at putting sharp thorns in unexpected places. He
would make any foreign raid during their absence awkward. Even so, Flo didn't
like leaving the four children alone, but she saw no alternative. They had to
remain to maintain possession of the good cave.
They took a devious path, and walked on past the territory of their nearest
neighbor band, because they knew that there were no suitable mates there, and
the others knew too much about them. They needed to approach an unfamiliar
band. Their band's path linked to the neighboring band's path, becoming less
familiar, but it was all right because all people had a common interest in
connecting to others. Otherwise how would mates ever be found? As long as they
stayed on the path and kept moving, they would probably not be molested.

They did not encounter anyone. That wasn't surprising, because there were not
many bands. Their own had come from another place, moving into new territory,
and others had closed in around them similarly. The other bands were larger,
so could hunt more effectively, and got the best animals first, which was why
their own band had to scavenge more often than not. Where the elder generation
had come from they didn't know, but Flo's impression was that it was far away.
Whenever things got crowded, some people moved; it had always been that way.
Of course the other bands would be aware of their passage. Every band kept
watch over its territory. Little Bry had sharp eyes and was always alert for
motion or traces; he knew when strangers passed near, but never showed
himself. It would be the same with any band. Foreigners were not to be
trusted; only when they became sufficiently known were they accepted,
grudgingly. That was why mating was difficult; it was not fun for a woman to
join an unfamiliar and tacitly hostile new band. Especially at first, when she
could be sexually tried by any or all males who desired her, before one
decided to make her his own. But it had to be done, if she wanted to breed.
And Flo was making it even more difficult for herself, seeking to make a man
come to her band. Yet such a thing was not unknown, if there was a man who
wanted to move, or a woman who was uncommonly appealing. Was Flo appealing
enough? Her body had matured with the experience of having the baby, and now
her breasts were large and her hips wide; she was well fleshed. She remembered
seeing adults like that, before the six of them got separated from their
original band, and they had attracted the interest of many men. She had
learned to walk in a way that accentuated her qualities, attracting male eyes.
She had practiced it, before the curse of the rape and lost baby, and Sam had
said that if she hadn't been his band sibling he would have found her matable.
She had had to cover her head to garner that opinion, because otherwise Sam
could not even entertain the notion. Band siblings were family. She knew how
it was, because when Sam covered his head, she could see that he was a good
mating prospect, but otherwise the question never entered her mind.
She thought again of her lost baby, as she tended to do when not actively
distracted by something else. She had had to leave the baby girl to die, then
changed her mind, but someone else had taken her. Not anyone in the

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immediately neighboring bands; it was generally known when a woman had a baby,
and all new children were accounted for. But a traveling woman from a more
distant band could have taken her. So Flo's eyes were open; maybe she could
find her daughter while visiting farther bands. Then --
That was where her mind always balked. She still couldn't take care of a baby.
Her milk had dried up, so she couldn't nurse, and without a man to bring her
occasional meat she couldn't have supported a baby anyway. So her child was
lost, regardless. Yet still she longed for her! Maybe at some point she would
see a baby with a scarlike mark between her toes, and know it had been hers.
They strode rapidly, staying mostly on the level paths and in open regions
where possible, making no effort to conceal their presence. Of course this
warned away game, but that was the point: They were not hunting or foraging
for more than they needed to sustain them on the way; they were traveling. The
folk of other bands would recognize that, and leave them alone.
Since there were few reasons to travel, others would understand their purpose.
When they entered the territory of a band in need of mates, contact would be
made.
By the end of the day they were near the edge of their familiar range.
They foraged for berries and grubs, then made a camp amidst a thicket where no
large animal could approach without making a commotion, and slept. It wasn't
easy, sleeping in the field, but there was little choice when traveling.
Certainly Sam would protect her, if anything came in the night.

In the morning they grubbed for edible roots, drank water from a stream, and
resumed travel. Now they were heading into strange territory. Flo hoped that
there would be a band here looking for mates.
And in the afternoon contact was made. They approached a fording place in a
river, guided by the path, and there was an old woman. She stood directly in
their way, and that was signal enough: female meant she was no threat to
anyone, and old meant she was not looking for a mate herself.
They came to a halt before her. "What?" the woman asked. It was the general
purpose query about their business here.
Sam stared at her, until Flo nudged him. Then he remembered. He tapped his
chest. "Sam need woman." He lifted one arm and flexed a muscle, showing his
capacity to support a mate.
Then it was Flo's turn. She brushed back the longer fur of her head.
"Flo need man." She stood up straight and inhaled, showing her capacity to
interest a mate. Then she added. "Man go Flo band."
The old woman looked sharply at her. "Flo go man band."
"Man go Flo band," Flo repeated firmly. "Small band, good hunting." Or at
least it would be good hunting, if they had the men for it, so they could be
first instead of last after the prey.
The woman peered more closely at her, especially her full breasts and broad
hips. Then she shrugged. She turned and walked up the slope, taking a path
that surely led to the band camp. They followed at a respectful distance.
Due deference was by far the best course, in foreign territory; men would be
watching.
The camp was much like their own, with several caves above, and a glade
cleared of brush below. The band members had turned out to see them. It was
much larger than their own; there were eight grown men, nine grown women,
several old folk, and too many children of all ages to count. All of them
stared curiously at the visitors.
The band leader stepped forward. "Joe," he said. He gestured to another more
slender man who stood beside and a bit behind him. "Bil."
"Sam," Sam said. He indicated Flo. "Flo. Siblings."
"Siblings," Joe repeated, understanding. That meant that they were not mated
to each other. Their business here was now obvious. "Where?"
Sam pointed to the west. "Days." That meant they had traveled more than a day
from that direction.

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Joe nodded. He glanced at the old woman, and he and Bil rejoined the other
men. The formalities of peaceful introduction had been accomplished.
The old woman described their business. "Sam need woman." She glanced at him,
and Sam flexed his muscle again. There was definite interest by several of the
elder girls. "Flo need man." Flo inhaled again, and spread her legs somewhat
apart, and there was interest by all of the men, though that was deceptive
because those already mated weren't eligible. "Man go Flo band."
The atmosphere changed. It was clear that the men had a good band here, and no
man wished to leave it and be a stranger in a foreign band. "Man go no," Bil
said.
"Flo band," Flo said. She had made her decision and intended to stick to it,
though it cost her a mate.
But there was a cunning look about the old woman. Sam was oblivious, but
Flo could see she was planning something. Not anything hostile, but definitely
something. "Wona," she said.
Bil nodded, evidently understanding the ploy. Bil seemed to be the smart
member of this band, like Ned in her own band.
From behind the women came one who had remained in the background. This must
be Wona. She was a stunningly beautiful young woman. Her fur was light and
fine, her breasts large and firm, and her hips were wide. She moved lithely,
showing no weakness of body anywhere. Her face was so sweet that it

was almost impossible not to like her at first glance. But Flo made the
effort, knowing that there was a catch somewhere.
Wona came to stand before Sam. She smiled at him and inhaled. Sam's intake of
breath was audible across the glade. He was well impressed. His penis was
lifting. He had feared he would have to mate an ugly woman, and here was an
absolutely lovely one being offered to him.
The old woman waited until she was sure Sam was hooked. Then she spoke again.
"Dirk."
A man hobbled forward, clutching a bamboo staff. He was not using it as a
weapon but for support; he was almost too weak to walk without it. The reason
was hardly obscure: he had been badly injured. His ribs were bruised on one
side, and were probably broken, and there was a large fresh scar on one leg
from a wound that made the use of that leg painful, as each wincing step
demonstrated. It would be some time before this man was much good at hunting.
Dirk came to stand before Flo. "Dirk go band," he said, with an apologetic
grimace. He knew she would not be interested.
Now the old woman made her point. "Wona Dirk go band."
Sam shook his head. He was not so dull as not to see that Dirk was no bargain.
He did not want to stick Flo or their band with him. "Wona yes, Dirk no."
The woman shook her head. "Band siblings. Go, go."
She meant that if Sam wanted Wona, Flo would have to take Dirk -- the one man
who was willing to join a new band. Because he was no longer welcome in this
one, being unable to hunt. He was a liability.
What were they to do? Wona was the embodiment of Sam's wildest dream.
Dirk was a disaster.
Yet Flo herself was not as she was presented, because of the secret of her
rape and lost baby. And in time Dirk should recover and be able to hunt again.
His rueful look had a certain perverse appeal; he didn't like being foisted
off on another band like this, but had no choice. He had to do what this band
wanted, or be cast out to die. He was not a bad-looking man, apart from the
injury. And obviously he would be no threat to Sam's leadership of the band.
Flo knew she was cursed anyway. She had lost her most precious quality, her
innocence, and her most precious thing, her baby. Now she would lose her most
precious dream: that of a handsome, strong, excellent provider. Maybe it was
better to accept her lot, for the sake of the joy it would bring Sam.
She stepped forward and kissed Dirk on the mouth, embracing him and pressing
her breasts against him. She was accepting him. She saw his eyes widen with

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amazement, and heard a murmur of surprise and pleasure pass through the other
members of the band. They had expected her to reject the deal, but were
pleased that she had not.
Sam, released by that second consent, leaped at Wona and swept her into his
embrace. The woman accepted him, returning his embrace emphatically. She
wrapped her legs around him, and they dropped to the ground, immediately
mating. This was part of the ritual: by mating, they established their
commitment to each other in a way that all understood. Of course it wasn't
normally done in the direct presence of the band, but at least this way it
served as entertainment for the children.
Flo had to mate similarly with Dirk. Fortunately she was female, and so could
pretend interest, having no member whose lack of stiffness would give her
away. She walked with him to his sleeping site, at the edge of a shallow cave,
nominally private. She went down on the ground with him, and as his disbelief
faded his penis did stiffen. He winced from his injuries as he tried to mount
her, so she mounted him, fitting herself to him in the way that her prior
bitter experience had made familiar. But there was one essential difference:
this time she was not being raped, even if this was not her ideal

of a partner. She was in control, and that enabled her to fit his entry so
that it did not pain her, and to govern the motions they made together.
Actually, she had little to fear from anything as small as the male member,
after something as huge as the baby had passed through the channel. That
almost made the act pleasant. She liked knowing that she had this power over a
man, to make him respond to her, to do it her way. She liked having a man
grateful for her participation, as Dirk plainly was, even if she did not get
the same joy from the act itself that he did.
The completion was rapid. She felt Dirk spurt inside her, and knew that
Sam was doing the same in Wona, there before the band. She lay with Dirk for a
while longer, until he shrank out of her; then she disengaged, cleaned up, and
helped him to get back to his feet. They returned to the glade, where Sam and
Wona were waiting.
"Eat," Joe said approvingly. The visitors were now welcome here, though soon
they would be leaving for their own band.
They had a good meal of tubers and nuts from the band's store of food, then
returned to the caves to sleep. Flo knew that Sam was eager for more of
Wona, and she couldn't blame him. The weight of his feared curse had been
lifted.
But it was different with Dirk. She preferred to talk with him, getting
adjusted to his accent. She wanted to get to know him, hoping that he had a
good personality, now that she was committed. "Dirk hurt how?" she asked.
He smiled ruefully. "Woman."
Oh. He had fought another man over a woman. Such things happened.
Normally mating was by mutual agreement, but sometimes it wasn't. She
questioned Dirk further, and learned that a pretty girl had come to the tribe,
couldn't make up her mind between two men, so agreed to take the better
fighter. Dirk had been doubtful about fighting, because the other man was a
friend of his, but the other had had no doubts. So Dirk had lost, as much from
conscience as from lack of power. The other man had thus proved to be better.
Now Dirk did not care to remain in the band and watch the girl become a woman
with the other man and bear his babies.
It seemed to Flo that this spoke better for Dirk than he knew. He had been
weakened by indecision, not wanting to hurt a friend, despite his interest in
the woman. Flo could live with such a weakness. She had felt it when trying to
leave her baby to die. Life was easier for those without doubts, but they were
not necessarily the nicest people.
Then Dirk added something that thrilled her. "Flo better girl." He was saying
that she was a more attractive woman than the one he had lost.
Flo didn't want to spoil it, but she was getting to like Dirk; he had a number

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of ways about him that appealed as they became evident. So she told him the
truth. "Flo better no. Man Flo rape. Baby lose."
He stared at her. Then he shook his head. "Flo better," he said, dismissing
it.
She was so pleased that she moved into him, kissing him and wrapping her legs
around him, inviting him to have more sex. He did so, pleased in turn. It was
slower yet better than before. Then they slept.
In the morning they set out on the trail for home. Dirk made a good effort,
but his leg pained him with every step, and when the exertion made him breathe
faster, his ribs pained him too. Flo could see it; he would not be able to
keep any good striding pace. So she took action.
"Sam Wona go band," she suggested. "Dirk Flo slow." She was inviting the other
two to move on at speed, while she and Dirk would proceed at whatever pace
they could manage.
Sam hesitated, not wanting to leave her. But Wona encouraged him to do it. She
smiled at him. "Sam Wona go." Sam melted. He was soft mud in the hands

of this beautiful woman. Soon they were on their way, and Flo was alone with
Dirk. "Flo good," he said.
"Flo help," she said. She put an arm around him and matched her step to his,
so that their inner legs moved together. That enabled her to take some of the
weight of his injured leg on her own leg, and to steady him so that he did not
have to struggle for balance. He was considerably larger than she, but well
balanced, so she did not actually take much of his mass. It worked well, and
they were able to make much better progress.
But it was not possible to come close to matching the pace of healthy
individual striders, and they remained far from the home band as night came.
So they paused to forage, finding a log with a number of delicious fat grubs.
But there were no suitable caves near, and no dense thicket; they would have
to sleep in the open, a prospect Flo didn't relish. It wasn't because of the
bugs that would come; they could eat those. But there could be predators in
the night.
Then Dirk went to a large bramble patch and sat down beside it. His fingers
were surprisingly nimble as he took the prickly vines and wove them into a
kind of mat. He propped the mat above the ground with several forked sticks,
then crawled under it. He had made a shelter! It wouldn't stop rain, but any
large animal that tried to poke into it would get stuck with thorns.
Flo crawled in with him. She gave him sex again, carefully, because too much
motion would push them against the thorns. And they talked some more. She told
him how she and her band siblings had gotten separated from their original
band and had to forage for themselves. That was why they insisted on staying
together; they had been through hard times and trusted each other. She told
him of the other members: how Ned was smart, and Jes was ugly for a girl but
loyal and hard-working, and little Bry was very reliable and little Lin was
ashamed because she had an extra finger on one hand, but was otherwise very
pretty. And that none of them was ever supposed to tease any other about such
things.
Dirk in turn told her about the special things in his band. Then he hesitated.
"Dirk Joe band no," he said.
"Dirk Sam band," she agreed. He was changing loyalties, because of his mating
with her and his agreement to go with her. Band loyalty was important, because
lives depended on the cooperation of band members.
"Dirk say bad."
He had something bad to say? But she knew that he was not a mean person.
"Bad?"
"Flo tell no."
Something private. Secret. She had better hear it. "Flo tell no," she agreed.
"Wona -- " But he didn't finish. He had conflicting loyalties.
"Wona beautiful," she said.

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"Wona ugly."
A shiver ran through her. Obviously he wasn't referring to the woman's
appearance. But he was from Wona's band; he had to know her well. How was she
ugly?
But here the vocabulary failed them. There was something intangible about Wona
for which a word did not exist. But it made her ugly.
And Sam was cursed to mate with an ugly woman. Now there was nothing to be
done about it. But at least Flo had been warned; she would keep watch, until
she learned what it was Dirk knew about the woman.
The thorn shelter served well; no animal bothered them in the night.
They slept well, sharing fur in the cool darkness.
In two more days they made it safely to the band camp. The children were glad
to see them. It wasn't that they didn't appreciate the way that Sam guarded
them, but Flo served somewhat as a mother to them, and they liked her

nearness. Actually Sam wasn't in evidence; it seemed that Wona had taken him
off somewhere for more delights. The children hadn't wanted to try to go
foraging alone, so were hungry.
Well, Flo would take care of that. The day was late and she was tired, because
she had been bearing some of Dirk's weight as well as her own, but the
children had to eat. She took them all out, Dirk included, to the nearest best
berry patch, which had many ripe berries because it hadn't been picked for two
days. This also served to show Dirk this key path, so he would know it
hereafter. It would take him time to learn all the local paths, but it would
happen, because that was part of the strength of a band. Its people knew its
paths, while strangers did not.
They feasted. And while they did, the children began to get to know
Dirk, warming to him as Flo had. He was cheerful despite his pains, and the
quickness of his hands impressed them. He showed them how he could flip a
berry up and catch it in his mouth, and soon Bry and Lin were trying it, with
less success but more fun. Flo saw that Dirk liked children: another good
sign.
Seasons passed, and Dirk healed. They were fortunate that the time of his
weakness was in the berry season, when food was plentiful. By the time that
passed, he was much stronger, and he was good with a sharpened staff. He
actually threw it at small game, and connected often enough to bring in meat
fairly regularly. It was clear why the other band had tolerated his weakness;
when well, he was an asset to any band. But since he had wanted to leave, they
had supported him by forcing the deal to get him mated out. But none of them
had thought he would be accepted by as well formed a woman as Flo, he said.
Her appearance there had been fortunate for Joe's band.
Flo had not wanted to take him, but soon had become satisfied, and now was
quite pleased. It was apparent to all the band siblings except Sam that
Dirk was the better acquisition than Wona, who was often irritable and tended
to shirk her responsibilities to the group. She got away with it because Sam
could see no evil in her, and made excuses for her, or did her work himself.
Flo did not remark on it, but she was coming to suspect that Joe's band had
wanted to be rid of Wona more than Dirk. How cleverly they had reversed it,
demanding that Dirk be taken for the privilege of getting Wona! Certainly that
ploy had fooled Sam -- and Flo herself.
Both Sam and Dirk delighted in their mates, and before long both women had
babies within them. This time the band was strong enough to support new
children. With two grown men, hunting was good, and Ned was big enough to help
them scare out game.
As both Flo and Wona grew fat with their babies, their men lost interest in
sex with them. This could have been awkward, for Flo knew that grown men never
lost interest in sex itself. But Dirk was devoted to Flo, and remained close
to her and treated her well throughout, and Sam remained hopelessly fixed on
Wona. It was apparent that neither man had any inclination to stray.

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Jes, not yet a woman, took more of a hand in managing the foraging as
Flo's ability to get around diminished. Jes had had experience at the time of
Flo's first baby, so was competent. The children, remembering the hard times
of the past, worked hard too. So their band of eight remained viable. In fact,
Flo gained more than enough weight. This time she would not be impoverished by
the birth of her baby, and she would be competent to nurse it and care for it.
She would not have to give it up, this time. That pleased her.
But she did still wonder what had happened to her first-born. In her mind she
saw the baby growing into a beautiful child, with hair as black and glossy as
obsidian, and with dark eyes in which knowledge of the spirits lurked. A
pretty child, who would surely one day be a beautiful woman, and nice in
personality. A perfect child; a joy to her family. One who would

always make a good impression.
Flo found herself crying, as she usually did when thinking of her first baby.
She knew that the girl was probably ordinary, if she survived at all.
But Flo's fancy was free to picture her as ideal, and the image would not
fade. She hoped that whatever family had her was a good one, that would
appreciate her and love her. As Flo would have, had she been able.
The time of birthing came. Wona was first, which was not surprising
considering Sam's eagerness to have at her. She did not want Sam near for the
occasion, and Sam, incompetent in any such matter, was satisfied to go out
hunting with Dirk and Ned. Flo and Jes attended her, and it was just as well
that they had experience, because Wona was difficult to deal with. She
screeched constantly in pain when her belly contracted, and accused the two of
them of making it worse. She didn't want them to touch her, but she couldn't
seem to get the baby out by herself. In fact it was as if she didn't want to
part with it; she closed her legs and said she had changed her mind. But she
couldn't stop the contractions. Finally Flo and Jes consulted, then acted
together. Flo caught Wona's arms and held them up over her head so they could
not get in the way, and Jes used her feet and hands to wedge Wona's legs apart
and keep them that way. Jes kneeled, watching for the baby, and then took
careful hold of its head and pulled it slowly out. Wona's screams must have
echoed to the camps of the neighboring bands. But they got the baby, and cut
its cord. It was already crying, but could hardly be heard above Wona's cries.
Then Jes lifted it clear, and got out from between Wona's legs, and the legs
closed again, as if not aware that what they had enclosed was already out.
Flo let go of Wona's arms. "Done," she said. "Girl." Jes was cleaning the baby
off with moss and rocking her to try to quiet the crying.
Wona's eyes narrowed. "Girl? Boy."
She might want a boy, but she couldn't change what she had. "Girl," Flo said
firmly.
Jes brought the baby to her, and they finally prevailed on Wona to let her
nurse. But the woman was scowling. She blamed them for letting a girl be born.
Sam was thrilled. He said the baby looked just like her mother. He named her
Wilda. He held her and carried her around with him for some time, displaying a
devotion that surprised the others. But of course he had never had a baby
before, so there had been no chance for him to show such a side.
When the moon cycled back to a similar form, Flo bore her own baby. Wona was
nowhere near, which was just as well. Jes attended her, and so did Dirk, and
the birthing was easier than the first one had been. Flo neither screamed nor
protested, as a matter of pride, and soon had a baby boy.
She was almost disappointed, because she had hoped for a girl just like the
one she had lost. But a boy was good too.
"Good," Dirk agreed. "Flint."
"Flint," Flo agreed as she nursed him. Dirk had done what Sam had, and given a
name similar in its initial sound to that of the mother. It was a compliment.
Dirk was no less devoted to Flint than Sam was to Wilda, though he didn't
carry him around a lot. Instead he did his best to facilitate Flo's caring for

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him, bringing her everything she needed. But she did not need much;
she had been through this before, and experience was a wonderful guide. How
glad she was that she could keep this one!
Thus the triple ploy: sex appeal, romantic love, and attachment. Instead of
putting out pheromones to compel the service of all males in the vicinity at
the time of ovulation, as most animals did, the prehuman woman shifted to
visual signals and reversed her reproductive strategy, actually concealing her
moment of fertility. This was not done to make her sexually unapproachable, as

most animals are to their mates most of the time, but the opposite: to make
her continuously appealing. Developed breasts became objects of sexual
interest, as did the fleshy buttocks and the outline of her body. (Some
disagree, believing that only the fact that these parts are normally covered
makes them of interest. Nudist camps go far toward nullifying the appeal of
concealment. But most men of most cultures are definitely turned on by the
firm flesh of young women, and "peepers" do spy on nudists. Why bother to
cover those parts in warm weather, if they are not critical?) This meant that
a given male did not have to shop among a dozen females to indulge his chronic
sexual appetite; he could be satisfied by a single woman, who could
accommodate him any time or all the time; there was no limit. That was the
carrot. There was also the stick: if he did travel between females, he could
not be sure of siring offspring with any, because no one could tell when it
would take. In fact, if he spent time with one, but left her alone for a day,
some other male might come and fertilize her that one time -- and that one
would take. So there was no way to be sure of impregnating a given woman
except to remain with her all the time, allowing no other man access to her.
And if he couldn't leave her even briefly, how could he go out to sire
anything with any other woman? He was locked in. Thus love: complete devotion
to one partner, even when she becomes temporarily sexually unappealing in the
advanced stages of pregnancy. Such love may seem exhilarating, but nature has
a cynical agenda, leading the polygamous male to monogamy, lest his line die
out. A contemporary study indicates that such romance typically loses half its
force in eighteen months, and most of it in about four years -- just long
enough for the woman to conceive, gestate, bear, and nurse the resulting baby.
Which means that the father gets to know his offspring before his infatuation
with the mother fades. Such acquaintance leads to commitment, which is a
different kind of love. It has no sexual component, but can be quite strong;
men will commonly risk their lives to protect their children, once they know
them. Even if their relationship to the mother breaks up, their commitment to
their children can remain. Thanks to the triple ploy. Current research
indicates that there are actual hormones in the brain that govern these
stages; it is not mere imagination. Nature leaves little to chance. Of course
women too can be interested in sex, and fall in love, but their commitment to
their children always existed, perhaps a woman's strongest emotion; it is the
men the triple ploy evolved to handle. It is the men who are most dazzled by
sex, and who plunge most heedlessly into love. Even with modern intelligence
and knowledge of consequences, men are still governed by it. This is shown
also by its negative aspects: prostitution, rape, stalking, abuse, and murder
of a given woman, rather than lose her. A man may throw away his career and
life, because of his unwise fascination with a woman who wishes to separate
from him. Love is a two-edged sword, and extremely powerful. Sex, love,
attachment: there is little else like the triple ploy.
One possibly confusing sidelight: Homo erectus at this time developed a
sophisticated stone tool tradition, notably the Acheulean chipped hand axes,
that served him in good stead for more than a million years. Flint was a prime
material for this. Thus the name of one character. But as it happens, no
Acheulean tools have been found in east Asia, because Erectus migrated there
before their invention. Flint as a stone existed, however, so the name is not
actually a mismatch, though in this volcanic region obsidian would have been

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preferred.
Chapter 4 -- ARMS RACE
The prior volumes assumed that mankind had an aquatic stage, which was when
the fur was lost and women became permanently breasted. This volume

assumes that there was no water stage, and that breastedness was an aspect of
the female family strategy. The increasing size of the brain drove the species
to shed the last of his fur, to make his cooling system as efficient as it
could be. But this leads to some questions. What happened when the weather got
cold? This must have been the original reason for clothing: to replace the
warming effect of the lost fur. But that stage would not have been necessary
if the brain had not continued to increase, forcing such an extraordinary
measure. Why did that brain keep growing far beyond the point required for
efficient survival? For the capacities of the brain of modern mankind, which
are still being explored, developed when he was primitive. It seems like vast
overkill, for the life he led at the time. But nature does not waste her
energy. There had to be a compelling reason. And there was: the arms race. The
setting is the southern end of the Great Rift Valley of Africa, 150,000 years
ago.
THEY SAW THE CURL OF smoke in the sky ahead, and veered to intercept its
source. Fortunately there was a good side path leading that way, for they were
in unfamiliar territory. Small smoke on a clear day, in contrast to large
smoke, was a sure sign of a human being, and they were looking for a band in
this vicinity with which to trade.
It turned out to be a boy of about ten, three years younger than Ned. He was
tending a small fire, over which he was roasting a tough root. He stood as the
two of them approached. He seemed to have a bad scar across his forehead, as
if he had been burned there and the color had not faded. They stopped at a
respectful distance, and Ned spoke. "Here is Ned," he said, enunciating each
word carefully as he tapped himself. "Here is Jes." He tapped his sibling on
the shoulder. He did not identify her as female, as she normally concealed her
gender from strangers. She was tall, bony, and homely, like a man, so this was
more comfortable for her, and safer.
"Here is Blaze," the boy said, tapping his chest. "Blaze make fire," he added
with pride.
"Pot make fire," Ned said, showing he understood. Fire was hard to make, but
easy to keep, if a person nested it in sand and dry moss to keep an ember
going. So each band had its cultivated hearth, where the fire never quite went
out. When it was time to cook something, the fire tender would bring dry
leaves or grass and blow on the ember, and get a flame from it. When the fire
had to be moved, they would pack an ember with its sand in a hollow stone and
carry it. It was surprising, however, to entrust such a responsibility to a
child.
"Blaze make fire," the boy insisted. "See." He got down on the ground, where
he had several fragments of stone. He lifted one and banged it against
another, making a spark fly.
This was intriguing. Could he really make fire without an ember? Ned and
Jes got down on the ground and watched closely.
Blaze made a little pile of very fine dry moss, then banged his rocks together
so that more sparks flew. At first they missed the pile or faded out before
reaching it, but then one landed directly in it and made a little scorch mark.
It was possible!
"Blaze make fire," Ned agreed, impressed. "More sparks will make a fire."
The boy glanced at him, perplexed.
Ned realized that he had spoken too quickly. Some people could not distinguish
fast sounds, and some did not understand tense. He repeated what he had said,
this time carefully separating each word.
Blaze broke into a smile, understanding. "Blaze make fire," he said once more.
"Many sparks."

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It took many sparks to accomplish it, because of their random nature,

Ned saw. But the principle was there. "Show Ned make fire," he said.
Blaze hesitated.
Jes brought out a swatch of fiber net. She stretched it between her hands,
showing how it was flexible yet strong, its strands intricately looped to form
patterns of circles. Such netting was precious, because few women knew how to
do it this way. Their family had learned to harvest, cure, and soften certain
tough vines so that they were thin and flexible even when dried out, and could
be woven into durable nets. "Trade," she said. "Net -- make fire."
Blaze smiled, delighted. Maybe he had simply wondered whether they were
serious. Now they had shown they were, for a trade deal was a serious matter.
They turned over the valuable swatch, and got to work on the fire. Ned took
the stones, and banged them together, but no spark came. Blaze took them back
and showed him how: two shiny sections had to strike each other to produce the
spark. Ned took them again and finally got a faint spark, not nearly as big as
the ones the boy routinely made. It would take practice. But it was clear that
it could be done, with experience, time, and patience.
Ned questioned Blaze about where such rocks could be found, and learned that
they were actually stones with flint embedded, from the same mine as the flint
used to make tools and weapons. Ned hadn't known about this aspect; he would
certainly explore it when they returned to their home band. This was a most
significant discovery. While their band had been learning to make fibrous
strands and netting that would support moss, fern, and other insulating
substances, so that they didn't have to depend entirely on animal pelts for
warmth at night, Blaze's band had been learning to make fire, so that they
didn't have to depend on cultured embers. That knowledge was at least as
important as net, Ned thought.
"May Ned and Jes share Blaze fire?" he asked.
The boy was glad to agree. But he had a qualification. "Root small."
Jes smiled. She got up, looked around, and went on a root hunt. She had sharp
eyes, and she had always been good at foraging, as well as finding faint
paths. The home band used similar roots, gathering them and bringing them in
to the fire, because they were too tough to eat raw. She knew what she was
looking for. And soon she found several, and used her pointed staff to pry
them out of the hard ground.
Blaze was amazed. "Man good forage," he said as she brought them back.
Jes smiled again. "Secret," she said. "Do not tell."
Blaze looked perplexed, but crossed his arms before his chest, promising to
keep the secret.
Jes opened her net cloak, showing her small breasts and furred memberless
cleft. "Woman!" Blaze exclaimed, astonished. "Thought boy."
"Secret," she repeated. "Woman forage."
Blaze nodded. Men typically hunted, while women foraged, so women had the
better eye for plants. She had explained her ability to find roots. But she
often hunted with the men, and she could use her staff as a weapon when she
chose to. But she made no point of that now, as that was a secret of another
sort.
They cooked the roots, and shared water from their water skins, and talked,
keeping the words slow and distinct. Blaze told how he was his band's fire
tender, despite being young, because he had a natural way with fire. He
touched his forehead by way of explanation: he had been born with the fire
mark. He told how he had a friend who was a girl named Ember, who also liked
fire. He liked her a lot, but knew he would not grow up to mate with her,
because they were band siblings. That made him unhappy, but he couldn't change
it. Jes said she sympathized; she expected not to mate, because she was too
ugly to dazzle a man.
Blaze laughed. "When Blaze man, Jes come," he said gallantly, touching his
forehead again to remind her that he was ugly too, and also touching his

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bare penis, not yet furred.
Then Jes did something Ned had not seen before: she blushed. She was touched
by the boy's offer, because there was no artifice in it; Blaze liked her. But
of course their bands were distant from each other, and it would be two or
three years before Blaze was a man, and that was a long time. Nothing would
come of it.
Ned explained how they had come to trade net for flint, the precious weapon
stone. "Band have flint?"
"Yes." But the boy frowned. "Bub Green Feather band have pelts."
Ned felt a chill. Their band had encountered the Green Feather band once
before, long ago, when they were traveling. Bub had raped Flo and then driven
them away. But he did not reveal his recognition. He and Jes were unlikely to
be recognized, because the episode had been brief, and the two of them had
grown since then.
So Bub might not want to trade, as a pelt was better than netting. It was
where pelts were rare that net was useful. "No trade, Ned Jes go other band,"
Ned said.
Still Blaze was uneasy. "Secret."
Ned and Jes exchanged a meaningful glance. There was something they should
know. Then both crossed their arms in front, agreeing not to tell.
"Man come, have salt," Blaze said. "Bub take salt, no trade. Man go."
So Bub had been true to form. He had robbed the visitor instead of trading for
his wares. Some bands were like that. They might trade fairly with nearby
bands, because those were capable of attacking in force, but would cheat
individuals from more distant ones, who were powerless. If such a person
protested, he could be beaten or killed. This was a grim warning.
But Ned had an idea. "Flint mine near?"
Blaze smiled. "Blaze show path," he said eagerly. He pointed out the direction
of the place where the flint was found, and described how it was mostly in
scattered chunks amidst chalky rock. They didn't actually need to try to trade
with Bub's band; they could find their flint directly.
Ned was pleased. "Let's give him more net," he said quickly to Jes. At that
velocity he knew that Blaze would not be able to understand it. He spoke this
way so that Jes could demur if she disagreed, without embarrassing either of
them.
Jes smiled. "Thank Blaze," she said slowly. She drew a full length of netting
from her bundle and presented it to him. "Keep." And she kissed him.
This time it was the boy who blushed, overwhelmed by the gift and the manner
of its giving. "Blaze happy," he said, looking dazed.
Now it was late, and they had to go their ways. Blaze doused his fire with
sand, and Ned and Jes set out for the flint mine. They would probably never
meet again, but it had been a pleasant and profitable interlude.
But they did not go far. "The ashes of that fire are very fine," Ned remarked.
"But cooling," Jes said. "Too late to save any of that fire."
"I want them cold."
"Ned, I'm not stupid, but I can't follow your mind."
"Good. Then others won't follow it either."
So they went back to the site Blaze had left, and found the ashes warm and dry
under the sand. They took several handfuls and put them in their tightest
leaf-shielded net bag. They smoothed more sand over the place so that there
was no evidence that anything had been taken. Then they resumed their trek
toward the mine, ferreting out the best paths.
They were cautious. This was unfamiliar terrain, and it was possible that
Bub's tribe would have a possessive attitude about the flint mine, though
obviously no person had authority over any feature of the land other than the
game it supported. So they left the main path and approached the region from a

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different direction. Here their ability to locate faint paths really helped,
because they did not want any stranger to be able to follow them. But darkness
was closing, so they found a secluded large tree and climbed into its branches
for the night. They put on extra layers of dry grass and leaves bound by
netting to shield themselves from the cooler air of night, and from the
mosquitoes.
"How she feel, being woman?" Ned inquired. Their own more sophisticated
language had words that stood for other words, and these were surprisingly
useful in two ways: they eliminated the need to constantly name people, and
they made it less intelligible to outsiders. When he had suggested that they
give "him" more netting, Jes had understood that he meant the boy. This time
"she" meant Jes.
"Nice," she said. Normally no man looked at her as men looked at Flo, because
of the angularity of her body, the smallness of her breasts, and her homely
face. But the boy Blaze had accepted her as a woman, once he had seen the
proof of it. There had been a subtle shift of attitude, perhaps unconscious. A
softening of tone, a hesitation of gaze, as if she were a person he wished he
could impress. And of course the blush when she kissed him. "Young," she added
with regret.
For if Blaze had been older, and if his judgment of her were not different
when he had the passions of a man, he would have been a suitable prospect to
bring to their band. But as it was, his destiny was elsewhere. So her chance
to feel like a woman was fleeting, and she would continue to masquerade as a
boy. Ned regretted that, for Jes was capable in the things required of women,
and deserved to be treated as one.
In the morning they foraged as they explored the mine area, eating berries
that were handy. They found where bits of flint had been pried from chalky
sections. When they came to a likely spot, they used their staffs to pry at
the stones, and in due course did find several fragments of flint.
These weren't useful in their present form, but some careful pounding would
produce pieces with sharp edges. They put these in a finely woven net bag.
They had accomplished their mission.
Then they set out for home. But they were still cautious, so sought the
slightest paths that would allow them to pass unscathed. "Think Bub knows?"
Ned asked. They were lapsing increasingly into the full range of their
language, no longer needing to school themselves in pidgin so as to be clear
to others.
"He saw Blaze with net," she said. "Make him tell." And the boy would have to
tell of his meeting with the two of them. He wouldn't tell that Jes was
female, but the rest was regular information. If Bub were inclined to
intercept them, he would do so at the place where they had to use a narrow
pass between mountains.
But Blaze had also told them of a more devious route from the mine. One that
he had explored with his friend Ember. It wound up the mountain much higher,
and could be cold, but it was possible to get to the far side using this path.
"Alternate route," Ned decided, and Jes nodded agreement.
They moved swiftly -- but not swiftly enough. Because as they found the
alternate path, they saw a man on it. Right where it narrowed between rocky
ledges so that there was no other way to pass. He had a stout staff, and was
not foraging. They did not need to inquire his business. Obviously Bub had
anticipated this alternative, and acted to block it as well as the main path.
They exchanged a silent glance. Bub was evidently dangerous, because he was
smart as well as unscrupulous. But was he smart enough?
They retreated quietly, until they were safely out of earshot. "We do not know
how many men there are," Ned said. "One in view, one or two in ambush, I
think. We must make them show themselves."

"They will stop us," she said. "And beat us, or kill us. We can communicate
better, but we can't fight better."

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"I want you to do two things," he said. "It is warm enough. Give me your
netting and bag. Take this." He handed her the small bag of fine ashes.
"You want me to walk naked past those men?" she asked, not pleased.
"They may not find me beautiful, but they will put the bag over my head and
rape me. Remember Flo."
"Yes, I think they will. Walk in the manner of Wona, so that there is no doubt
of your nature. Stand erect and take deep breaths. I will walk behind."
"Ned -- "
"Must I explain?" he demanded with mock severity. "Remember what Lin did?"
A light dawned. "When Bry teased her about her hand? Now I understand!"
She quickly removed her net cloak and folded it so that he could carry it.
"But I can do better than naked. I'll don the net skirt."
"Wonderful!" he agreed. He helped her wrap the band of netting around her,
forming a skirt that hung low on her hips and covered just a bit more than her
bottom. "You look truly evocative."
"Thank you," she said, pleased. Then she took two handfuls of ashes.
Soon they resumed their walk, proceeding heedlessly up the path. Jes was bare
except for the string skirt, which concealed absolutely nothing. Of course
that was the point of it; only available women wore them, to enhance their
sexuality. She was swinging her closed hands and her hips with seeming
abandon. Her small breasts bounced, calling attention to themselves, and the
tassels on the skirt flounced, drawing eyes to her belly, thighs, and bottom.
She was not well endowed, but her motion and the provocative skirt made her
extremely sexy. She was his sister, yet when he squinted so as to fuzz her
familiarity, those strings over her twinkling buttocks almost made him hunger
for her. In fact he had to unsquint, lest he suffer a reaction. So Ned
followed, several paces behind, carrying all the nets over his shoulders, and
their two staffs with them. Obviously the two of them had no thought of
encountering anyone on this remote path; they were complete innocents, perhaps
looking for a suitable place to indulge in mating play. The man in the path
came to attention. He stared at Jes.
"Woman!" he exclaimed in amazement. Obviously Blaze hadn't told that aspect,
as he had promised.
A second man lurched out of hiding. "First!" he cried, staring similarly:
first hands on the woman. They hadn't even noticed her homely face, as Ned had
hoped. But maybe they wouldn't have cared anyway, as obviously they just
wanted to rape her and throw her away.
Ned looked wildly around, as if surprised. "No!" But he seemed to be too
stupid to drop his nets and grab his staff; he just watched the two men
advance on Jes. They didn't seem to regard him as any kind of a threat.
So there were only two. Jes had sprung the trap. Good. The first man grabbed
for Jes, the second coming at her from the other side. She shrank away, not
having to feign alarm, but both of them pursued her. She raised her hands as
if to ward them off with her little fists.
Then she flung both hands out, swiping at their faces. But her hands didn't
touch them.
Both men cried out and staggered back, clutching at their eyes. She had scored
on them with the fine ashes. She ran on past them and up the path. Ned
followed with his burdens. The men didn't even try to stop them.
Ned knew that by the time the men got their eyes clear enough to see again, it
would be too late for any effective pursuit. Probably the men would report
that the quarry had not passed that way, concealing their embarrassment at
being duped. Bub might not believe them, but it wouldn't matter; the escape
had been made.

When they were sure they were safe, they paused, and Jes donned her more solid
netwear and took her staff and her share of the burden. "That was almost as
much fun as making Blaze blush," she said. "You do make me feel like a woman."
He smiled, letting the matter pass. His band sister was indeed a young woman,

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with many qualities to recommend her. But most men could not see beyond the
face and the too tall, too thin body, so she had little chance to act the
part. Had she not caught the two tribesmen completely by surprise, they would
soon have seen how small her breasts were, and that the string skirt covered
mannishly slender hips. They would have raped her anyway, but with less gusto.
He wished he could help her to find a good man. But maybe she would get lucky,
as Flo had, taking a seemingly inferior man and having him turn out to be very
good. Flo was now somewhat fat, after birthing her son, but Dirk didn't seem
to notice. Was there a good man who would appreciate an angular woman?
They made their way through the high pass, glad of the clothing to shield them
from the cutting winds. The path was difficult, and it was late by the time
they crested the ridge. They ate from the dried fruit they carried, and drank
from their water skins, then bundled themselves in all their remaining netting
and lay down back to back to sleep. They knew that no man would come upon them
during the night, because it was too cold for others to handle. In any event,
they slept lightly, and any suspicious noise would wake them.
"Something I must tell you," Ned said. "You were so much like a woman, it
excited me."
"From behind," she replied, calling out the flaw.
"So I could not recognize you as my sister," he said, bypassing the flaw. "If
I met one like you, but not you, I think I would not care much about her
face."
She twisted in her wrappings and kissed his ear. "You give me hope," she
murmured, very pleased.
In the morning they did some spot foraging, finding a few good roots to chew
on, and moved on down toward the warmer valley beyond. They got a nice view of
it, spread out before them: a grassy plain surrounded by the forest that grew
on the slopes. And saw something problematical in that plain.
"A camp of men," Jes said, shading her sharp eyes with one hand.
"Right where we have to cross the valley to return to our regular route home,"
Ned said. "They are on the main path. Dare we gamble on their purpose?"
"No. They are either of Bub's band, or have a pact with it. There may be
others spaced along the valley. I suspect that someone is really angry with
us."
"And really determined that we not show it is possible for folk to mine their
own flint and depart without getting robbed," Ned agreed. "I think we had
better not be caught."
"They might get confused and rape you and murder me," she remarked, smiling
grimly.
But they did have to cross that central valley plain, and there seemed to be
no way to do it without being spied by the lurking men of the camp. That was
why the campers weren't even trying to hide; they weren't the ones being
pursued. They would either catch the fugitives as they crossed, or keep them
confined to the slope beside the plain until they were spied and caught by
other searchers there. It might be hard to catch fugitives in mountains or
deep forest, because there were alternate paths and hidden ways, but it was
easy in the open.
"I think a handful of ashes will not suffice, this time," Ned said, not
seeming much dismayed.
"If not the ashes, perhaps the fire?" Jes inquired, following his thought.

"It would be a distraction."
So they worked out their plan in detail, knowing that any failure could be
disastrous. Jes foraged for tinder while Ned brought out two suitable flint
rocks and experimented with striking them together in the manner he had
learned from Blaze. It took some time, but he was able to start a fire. Jes
made a bed of sand, and they got a small fire going. Of course the smoke would
give them away, but it would take time for anyone to travel this high up the
mountain.

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Then Ned damped down his little fire, so that it was mostly hot embers, and
transferred it with its bed of sand to a section of leaf-and-sand-padded
netting. He made a bag of it that he could carry. The first part of their
strategy was ready. His setup was clumsy compared to that of a regular fire
handler, but it would not have to last long.
They angled down the slope, leaving the path. This was for several reasons.
There might be enemy men coming up that path to attack them, and they needed
to get lost in random territory, and they needed to intercept the wind at the
right spot.
But when they reached the place where the wind entered the valley, there was a
man posted. He wasn't even looking for them; he was just waiting, and watching
the plain.
"He will have to be distracted," Jes said regretfully.
"Briefly," Ned agreed. "But you will need a sure escape."
"You get that fire going soon, and I will have it," she said. "You will need
it too."
He nodded. Then they prepared themselves. They spread out all their untraded
net cloaks, then wrapped them around their feet and legs to the knees. They
tied them in place just above the knees, so that the knees could still flex.
Their legs looked enormously fat, because of the leaf padding between the
nets. Then they took their water skins and poured them carefully out onto the
padding, making it wet. They saved a little water for refreshing their
leggings later. Of course this left them nothing to drink, but they knew there
was a river in the next valley.
Now Jes made her way carefully around the position the enemy man guarded. When
she was far enough from Ned, she moved with less caution, until the man heard
her. He stood and called out. "Who?"
Jes did not answer. Instead she hurried on away from Ned. The man called
again, going after her, trying to get a good glimpse through the trees and
brush.
Now Ned went to the edge of the plain, where the grass grew tall, and opened
his fire bag. He blew on his embers, feeding more tinder to them, and in a
moment had an open fire. He set it down amidst the driest tangle of grass and
fed in more fuel. The fire spread swiftly, eagerly consuming the grass around
it. It reached up, catching the incoming wind. Ned stood back, watching the
flames eat into the field. Fanned by the wind, they grew and traveled quickly.
Smoke billowed up, announcing the fire's presence. The people in the center of
the valley would see it soon enough, and would have to move, because the wind
was carrying it right toward them.
There was a cry from the man who had been pursuing Jes, as he discovered the
fire. He ran back -- and spied Ned standing at the edge of the forest. He
stepped toward Ned, then hesitated, uncertain whether to chase the man or try
to deal with the fire.
Jes hooted behind the man. He turned to go after her again -- and Ned hooted.
They managed to make the man turn several times in confusion before he got
smart and focused on just one of them: Jes. He charged after her. And she ran
directly into the spreading fire.
The man stopped and stared. He did not realize that her wetted leggings
protected her feet from the heat of the flames. He could not follow her, for

his feet and legs were bare. He did not know what to do.
Ned hooted again. The man whirled, reminded of him. He charged. And Ned strode
blithely into the fire himself.
Now he held his breath and ran as rapidly as he could, getting beyond the
burning section. He found Jes there, waiting for him. The smoke was blowing at
them, but they were able to duck their heads low and breathe freely, crossing
the plain close to the fire. With luck there would be no man to block their
way; all the men should be running for the other side of the plain, to avoid
getting cut off by the fire. They would assume that Ned and

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Jes were still waiting to cross, rather than being already across. Because
they would not be thinking very clearly, during the considerable distraction
of the fire.
But one man was on the far side of the field. Bub had been cunning enough to
keep one man back, just in case. The fire was behind them, the man ahead. He
had them -- he thought. He made gestures at them with hips and fist, as of
raping and bashing. He was big enough to handle both of them.
They paused to pour the last of their water on their leggings. Then they ran
back into the fire, holding their breath again. They knew that the actual
region of burning was narrow; the flames ate what they could and moved on,
leaving soot and ashes behind. So they were able to run through the burned
terrain, and the man could not follow. In fact he could not remain where he
was, for the fire was bearing down on him. He fled.
They ran to the forest edge and hid themselves. Just in time, for their
leggings were hot and charring on the outside. When the strings burned
through, the leaf padding would spill out even if it remained wet, so they had
to watch it carefully. They retreated into the safety of the forest cover,
then paused to remove their leggings and beat out the smoldering sections.
They had made it through thanks to their alertness and readiness to innovate.
Ned was, in the process, coming to appreciate his sister better than ever; he
was known as the smart member of their band, but she was staying right with
him. If there ever should be a man who was interested in courage, loyalty, and
intellect, instead of a pretty face and buxom body, Jes would be a rare prize.
They made their way toward the path that led up through the next pass, pausing
to dig out any edible roots they spied along the way. They were somewhat worn
after their chase through the fire, for they had been carrying their burdens
of flint rocks as well as suffering the weight and clumsiness of the leggings.
But they knew they had to keep moving, for the fire would not last long, and
then the pursuit might resume.
They intercepted the general trail to the next pass -- and suddenly there was
a man ahead of them. They turned, and there was another behind them.
They had after all walked into a trap. Thinking themselves beyond pursuit,
they had let down their guard when they shouldn't have. What were they to do
now? They could try to run back the way they had come, but that led nowhere,
and the men were obviously fresher than they were. They couldn't escape.
"Fools. Caught," Ned said with deep disgust, speaking slowly and clearly in
the foreign tribe manner.
"Thought. Here. No," Jes agreed in the same mode, for the benefit of the
foreign males.
"Move toward the man in front," Ned said swiftly, in a low tone, knowing that
the syntax and detail made this unintelligible to the others. "When he grabs
you, bite his hand. I will stab him from behind. Then we must turn together on
the other, without pause. Without mercy. Without remorse. Only desperate and
forceful action will allow us to prevail. You know the consequence of
failure."
"I understand," she said grimly. There would be no forbearance on either side.
This was a fight for their lives. Then, for the men to hear: "Escape.
No." She made a shrug of obvious hopelessness as she walked toward the lead

man. Ned followed her, with similar show of resignation.
"Girl," the man said, smiling without niceness. Evidently the word had spread.
"Girl," Jes agreed, opening her netting to show her breasts. She inhaled, to
give them more substance. Ned knew she was imitating Wona, who constantly
flaunted her nice body. "Spare nice girl?"
"No. Make scream." The man grabbed for her, leering. She caught his leading
hand with both of hers and hauled it into her mouth. She bit hard on his
fingers, at the same time hauling him around so that his back was to Ned.
She might be slight in the womanly curves, but she was strong in the manner of
a man.

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The man howled with pain, and tried to strike at her with his other hand. But
now Ned was on him, thrusting at the man's exposed neck with his flint blade.
The point dug in just above the bones and muscles of the shoulder. Ned pulled
the blade back, and jammed it in again, trying to cut the tendons of the neck.
It wasn't easy to do.
"Ned -- behind you, coming fast," Jes said urgently. She still hung on to the
man's hand, trying to bend his fingers backward, her teeth bared for another
bite. Yet she was evidently looking beyond him, too.
Ned didn't turn his head to look. He jerked out the blade and whirled,
throwing himself to the side. The second man lunged in, crashing against Ned's
shoulder. And Ned stabbed him in the near eye. He felt the softness of it as
the blade sank in, and the hardness as it came up against the bone of the eye
socket. Hot fluid spurted onto Ned's hand.
The man fell, screaming, clutching at the other man. The two went down
together, both badly injured, neither quite knowing the identity of the other.
Ned and Jes drew away and fled, knowing that there would be no instant pursuit
by these two.
When they were sure they were beyond immediate danger, they paused to hug each
other. "I never did that to a man before," Ned said, his eyes flowing, the
horror of it overwhelming him.
"You did what you had to," she said. "You did well. You did well. You are a
man." But she was comforting him more in the manner of an elder sister, or a
mother, now emulating Flo. Nonetheless, it helped.
In the prior volumes it was assumed that syntax was the key element that
multiplied the effectiveness of human speech, facilitating the expression of
complex concepts of time and condition: "Tomorrow, if you don't see me here,
look for me in the next village." That is probably so, but this volume
considers another aspect: velocity of speech. Suppose all concepts are
expressible, but in one culture the language is slow, while in another it is
fast. The fast one would have a distinct advantage. In fact all human
languages are fast, the words proceeding so rapidly as to represent a liquid
flow without many interruptions. Try listening to a foreign language to
realize how confusingly swift it is; words can seldom be distinguished at all.
The human brain had to develop the capacity to make sense of this phonic
stream so that speech could proceed at jet speed, as it were, instead of
walking speed. This was surely a potent innovation, taking time to perfect,
and may have marked the difference between modern mankind and all others, such
as Neandertal. Even in something as basic as physical combat, this linguistic
velocity could make a significant difference, as shown here, and would have
been a formidable survival trait. Of course it probably happened over the
course of tens of thousands of years, and each increase in speed may have been
slight, but the advantage was evidently sufficient. However it happened, there
seems to be little doubt that the engine that powered mankind's phenomenal
increases in brain size was language.
Clothing was surely also vital. Mankind lost fur and went erect to

facilitate cooling, but when the weather changed that could have become a
liability. But clothing would have more than made up the difference, because
of its versatility. It could shield the human body from cold -- and even on
occasion from heat. It could be removed as convenient, or bundled on double.
Thus it enabled mankind to go further yet in sacrificing his body fur; cold
snaps no longer put him into dire straits. In fact, it enabled mankind to
travel out of Africa, following Erectus, without suffering unduly from the
colder climates there. With enough clothing, he could handle it better than
lightly furred Erectus could. Travel to cooler climes had enabled Erectus to
handle the excess heat production of his brain without having to sacrifice any
more fur, and that was fine, for most of two million years, but not the best
strategy for the long term. Thus his body itself had to change to adapt to the
brutal cold of ice age Europe, while modern mankind had far less trouble

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there, or anywhere else. Because he changed his clothing instead of his body.
With that final loss of fur he also became largely immune to parasites such as
fleas, which surely improved his health. He retained hair only on his head,
which still needed shielding from the sun, and in the groin, for adults.
Why did pubic hair exist, in a region readily covered by clothing? Apparently
to facilitate the aeration of genital hormones and odors. Perhaps particular
men and women knew each other in the darkness by their individual smells, and
were encouraged to make the effort of breeding when those smells were strong.
At any rate, clothing may have been far more important to the final evolution
of the species than has been recognized. By making it possible for that
burgeoning brain to survive both extremes of heat and cold.
Worked furs and hides were surely the first clothing. But in time mankind
discovered alternate ways to clothe himself. First he must have figured out
how to salvage vines, as described, and work them into baskets, nets, and
items of clothing. Later he found thinner fibers, but they were too short, so
he found out how to twist them into threads, and threads into string, and then
to knot the string into finer nets. This was the first primitive stage of what
in time would become the weaving of cloth. Also, string twisted into rope
would have been extremely useful, and nets could have served in lieu of skins
in the manner shown here. The technology was as yet clumsy, and it left no
trace in the early archaeological record because it rotted away, but surely
full-fledged cloth did not spring fully developed from nothing. The artifacts
of vine fiber may have served for a hundred thousand years before the
refinements of cloth developed. The string skirt itself has survived from
three or four thousand years ago, but we know it goes back beyond 20,000 years
because its semblance appears on the "Venus" figurines (of which more later).
It was as described: a stunningly sexy outfit for nubile young women, and a
great enhancement for the triple ploy strategy in the covert contest between
men and women. Who needed cloth, at this stage? But eventually the marvels of
cloth would come. Whether any such thing as the string skirt was used 150,000
years ago is wildly conjectural, but it is possible, given the nature of the
triple ploy. Today it manifests as the provocative miniskirt.
But why such a giant brain? Once mankind managed to forage in the hot savanna,
and to scavenge for richer food, he would seem to have had enough intellect to
survive. Once he adapted his mating scheme to provide support and protection
for women, the better to ensure survival of offspring, no further intelligence
was required there either. Why keep building the brain beyond any likely need
to compete with other species? This is where the arms race figures. Mankind
did have constant competition for the resources of his ecological niche:
variations of his own kind. They were constantly fissioning off, setting up
rival communities, and they had much the same abilities he did. So who
prevailed? That subspecies that could do it best. For a time it seemed that
bigger and stronger men were the answer, but in the end it seems

to have been the gracile ones with more versatile intelligence and speaking
abilities. So the race was between brains, and in the end the best brain won.
Ours.
Chapter 5 -- NUMBERS
Numbers are important. If there are too few members of a given species, it
dies out, lacking a viable breeding community. If there are too many for the
habitat to sustain, there is apt to be competition and starvation. But even
between those extremes, there are dynamics that make a real difference.
This is especially true for mankind, a social creature. A lone person may
survive for a year. A band of twenty-five is viable for perhaps 500 years if
it interacts with other bands so as not to become inbred. A band of 100 is apt
to fragment, because of internal quarreling. So most bands of hunter-gatherers
range between twenty and seventy people. That may be considered the basic unit
of human society. But there must be exchanges between bands, for breeding,
trade, and information. Thus they will be part of a larger group, or tribe,

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whose total number seems most viable at about 500 or 600.
Suppose some way were found to increase the size of human bands, so that
internal dissent did not break them up when they became larger than the normal
range? A larger band would have more leverage than a smaller one, and might be
able to take over the best hunting and foraging territories, and prosper
further. Such an advantage of numbers would enable particular bands to survive
better, especially in competition with others of their kind. And it seems that
such a way was found.
In the prior volumes there was a mystery: why did physically modern human
beings emerge from Africa about 100,000 years ago, then remain in the
Levant for 50,000 years before proceeding farther? Now it is known that they
did not pause, physically, and probably not linguistically. They moved on to
southeast Asia, where their traces have been dated back to about 70,000 years
ago, and on from there. They seem to have stayed generally clear of the
coldest or most mountainous terrain in that 50,000 years, however, which may
explain their absence from Europe and central Asia. Perhaps they preferred to
follow the convoluted coastlines of southern Asia, whose climate was more like
that of the continent they had left. The setting is India, 90,000 years ago.
LIN HELD UP THE FINISHED skirt, pleased. It was a fine piece of work,
consisting of a waist cord made of tendon, and long sections of leaves
descending from it, with a pattern of alternating colors. She was still a
child, but no one could tie leaves as prettily as she could.
"Put it on," Bry said.
Lin put the cord around her slender hips, and wrapped it twice around her
small waist before tying it, so that the leaves overlapped, forming the skirt.
She adjusted them so that the layers complemented each other. The colors
brightened in the sunlight.
"It's good," he said. "Make it move."
She flexed her knees and did a bit of a dance, making the skirt swish aside,
showing flashes of her thighs and bottom. Her body wasn't grown yet, so this
lacked something, but she enjoyed pretending.
"You must model it at the gathering," he said.
"I couldn't," she said quickly.
"But you made it," he protested. "You should show it. You're pretty enough."
She held up her left hand, the fingers splayed. All six of them.
"Oh, yes," he said. "I forgot. But it's too bad. Someone will have to show off
that skirt, so we can trade it well."

Lin shrugged, eyes downcast as she removed the skirt There had been a time
when Bry teased her about her hand, and they had fought, and she had flung
dirt in his face. But Flo had talked to him, about the need for siblings to
defend each other, and Ned had remarked on misfortune, which was Bry's own
private dread. Bry believed that each member of their sibling group was cursed
in some way, and that his curse was to suffer bad luck in whatever was really
important to him. He had taken heed of their concerns, recognizing his
affinity with Lin, and now he helped her hide her embarrassment. He had become
socially conscious in a hurry, and she appreciated it. She needed a friend who
really understood, and he had become that friend. Just as Ned and Jes were
friends as well as siblings, and Sam and Flo. The distinction was important,
just as it was between friends and lovers.
"I'll ask Ned," he said, and ran off to find their band brother.
Lin carefully coiled the skirt, making it look like a simple bundle of leaves.
She was proud of her handiwork, but had never been able to present her art in
public. It was hard enough just foraging. It was all right with Sam's band,
though Sam's wife Wona would stare deliberately. But when they encountered
folk of other bands, Lin always withdrew, even if she had to go hungry. It
just wasn't worth the humiliation.
Bry came running back. "Ned says cover your hands! With skirts."
"Skirts?" she asked blankly.

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"Little ones to match the big one. It will be a nice ploy. They will laugh,
but like it."
Lin went still, which was her way when a revelation came upon her. She could
cover her hands with miniature skirts, and her extra finger would not show!
Then she could appear in public without embarrassment. Ned, always the
smartest member of their band, had come through again.
She took some scraps of tendon left over from prior projects and tied small
leaves to them, alternating colors. She wrapped them around her fingers,
pinning them with thorns. Now she had two temporary little skirts that would
conceal the main parts of her hands, leaving only the thumbs free.
Then she realized that this wouldn't do. "Why should I cover my hands, if
there's nothing wrong with them?" she asked rhetorically.
Bry took off again. Lin gazed at her impromptu gloves, wishing she could use
them, covering both hands so as not to draw attention to the defective one.
She couldn't weave with her fingers covered, she couldn't eat, she couldn't
forage, but she could model skirts, and she could even make gloves to match
what she modeled, enhancing the effect. It could be so nice, if only she had
some obvious reason that wasn't the real one.
Bry came charging back. "Ned says because your fingers are stained with dye,
and you don't want to ruin the impression." He gulped a breath. "Also, make
them match the skirt, for the art of it."
And she did use dye, gathered from berries and roots and different kinds of
dirt. It was no good for leaves, but it could make the fur clothing distinct,
and that appealed to many people. She usually made the body paint for this
family, too. It was a job to find out what wouldn't wash out the first time it
rained, but some juices worked better than others. And the best ones did stain
her fingers for several days. The stain did not wipe off on other things, but
most folk would not know that, and anyway, different dyes were different; some
might wipe off. So Ned had given her another good answer.
And a good backup answer, using the hand skirts to enhance the main skirt. She
had actually thought of that aspect herself, before Ned suggested it, which
made her feel extremely smart. She could be in public.
She grabbed Bry by the head and kissed him hard on the cheek. "Hey, what's
that for?" he demanded.
"For Ned," she replied. "Take it to him."
He laughed. "You'll have to do that yourself. I don't do kisses."

"I will," she said, and set out to find Ned.
They were all there at the gathering: the members of Sam's band, and the
members of two other larger bands. Joe's and Bub's bands. Joe's folk were
generally all right, but Bub's could at times be mean. Dirk and Wona, the
mates of Flo and Sam, had come from Joe's band, so they knew most of the
people there. But Bub's Green Feather band had a private grudge against Sam's
band, and especially against Ned and Jes, who had outmaneuvered them on a
trading deal. So there might be trouble, though there was supposed to be no
fighting at gatherings.
The trading was brisk. Bub's band had assorted flints, chipped into
serviceable knives and tools. Joe's band had fine pelts from unusual animals,
worked until they were quite soft and flexible. Sam's band had assorted dyed
hides, leaf skirts, and reed-woven baskets. Lin walked around, with one of her
skirts on her torso, and the miniature matching skirts on her hands, and when
someone wished to trade for one, Jes would remove the one Lin wore and hand it
over, and put another on her. "You are doing well," Jes murmured to her. "You
make the skirts look better."
Lin was pleased, because if she could do this well as a child, how much better
she should be able to do when she was grown. She was pretty now, and would be
lovely then, if she could hide her hand. This was the first time she had been
able to model the skirts for trade, instead of letting Wona do it.
That was a real satisfaction.

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But there was another purpose to these gatherings: women. Young women needed
to find new homes, and men needed to obtain mates. So there was a good deal of
looking around. Lin looked around too. She was as yet too young, but not by
all that much, so she had an interest. Of course no man would consider her,
once he saw her hand, so speculation about the future was idle. Still, it was
nice to pretend.
As evening came, the trading slacked off, and Lin no longer modeled the
skirts. She removed her hand skirts, closed her left hand tight, and looked
around. The nudity of her body did not bother her; it was standard for
children, but her hand was always a concern. She saw that someone had started
a large fire. It seemed to be a boy, which surprised her, because this was
normally a man's job. So she went over for a closer look -- and was further
surprised. It was a girl! Rather, a woman, for she had her baby parked nearby.
The woman saw Lin looking. "Hello, girl," she called. "Do you like fire?"
"Yes," Lin confessed.
"Well, come help me build this up," the woman said. "It needs to be big enough
for everyone to sit around."
But if she started using her hands, her extra finger would show. So Lin tried
to demur. "I -- "
"Or would you like to hold Crystal while I fetch in more wood? I don't like to
leave her alone."
"Oh, yes," Lin agreed. She loved holding babies. Then, belatedly, she
introduced herself. "I'm Lin, of Sam's band."
"I'm Ember, of Joe's band," the woman replied. She picked up the baby, passed
her to Lin, and followed a path out to forage for more wood.
Lin sat holding the baby girl, gazing into the fire. She liked Ember, because
Ember trusted her with her precious child. And babies didn't care how many
fingers a person had.
But there was a woman staring at her. Lin knew who she was, from memory and
descriptions: the notorious Sis, Bub's sister or consort; it wasn't quite
clear which. That was one case where the distinctions between sibling, friend,
and lover seemed seriously blurred. By all accounts Sis was a beautiful but
sharp-edged creature, who would do whatever she thought she had to, to get her

way or her brother's way. She must have noticed Lin's hand, and was
contemplating some mischief. But she did not approach, and after a while went
elsewhere, to Lin's relief.
A man advanced to the fire, carrying a huge armful of wood. He dumped it down
beside the sticks already there. He glanced at Lin. "Why, hello, Ember,"
he said.
"Oh, I'm not Ember," Lin protested quickly. "She went to fetch wood."
He paused, seeming surprised, looking at her more closely. "Oh, I
thought you must be Ember, because you are holding Crystal."
"No, I'm Lin, of Sam's band. This isn't my baby. I'm not old enough to have
one."
"But pretty enough," he said. "Are you looking for a man?"
"No!" she exclaimed, fearing a frightful misunderstanding. Didn't he see that
she was a naked child?
But he laughed. "I shouldn't tease you, Lin. I am Scorch -- Crystal's father.
I am glad to see you taking good care of her."
Lin just stared at him, flushing, not knowing what to say.
Ember returned with more wood. "Are you teasing innocent girls again, Scorch?"
she asked as she set down her load.
"Only the pretty ones," Scorch said. "See what a fine baby this one has."
"But I'm not pretty," Lin said, hopelessly flustered. "My hand -- "
Worse yet. She shouldn't have mentioned that.
Scorch glanced at his wife, evidently realizing that his teasing had gone
awry. Ember squatted before Lin, but didn't take the baby. "Look at this," she
said, stretching out one arm. There was a long ugly burn-scar on it. "And

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this." She showed a knee, blotched with scar tissue. "I have such marks all
over my body, because of my trade. Does that make me ugly?"
"Oh, no!" Lin cried. "But -- "
"And Scorch has worse marks. But I think he's handsome, and he thinks
I'm beautiful. Are we mistaken?"
"But you got those marks from fire," Lin said. "They are normal."
Ember reached out and took Lin's left hand. "I see several perfect fingers
here. Who is to say what is normal?" She glanced at Scorch. "Would you mate
with such a woman?"
"One as pretty as that?" he replied. "I wouldn't even notice her hands."
"But others -- "
Ember nodded. "But I take your point, Lin. There are those who judge by the
wrong things. Keep your hand hidden, if you wish; we will not discuss this
further." Then she took back her baby.
Lin remained by the fire, liking these folk, who had gone out of their way to
reassure her. Maybe there would be a man for her after all, when she came of
age.
When the fire was high, the others took places around it. It was time for the
entertainment, while several men roasted a slain ox and carved off hunks of
the meat for all present to eat. Others set up a vat made from a hollowed log,
filled with water and a number of squished fruits and berries to flavor it.
Each person could dip a cup in it to drink. Lin was intrigued by the tang of
it, and not long after she drank she felt pleasantly/slightly dizzy. That made
the activities that much more fun. The nubile girls came out to dance, forming
a ring around the fire, showing their breasts and kicking their legs high so
that their leaf skirts parted and showed the men of other bands what they had
to offer. Jes was there, and she looked pretty good in the skirt, but she was
too tall and spare and homely, compared to the other girls.
Which was too bad, because Jes was a really nice person.
"But one is missing," a woman said. It was Sis. "That girl should join them.
She's pretty enough." She pointed to Lin.

And Lin didn't have her hand covers now. She would stand exposed to all the
folk of the gathering. She would embarrass herself, and her band. Which was
what Sis intended: to shame the band her brother disliked. To turn Lin's
prettiness against her by exposing her deformity.
She wanted to demur, to get out of this, but all eyes were turning on her.
What could she do?
Then Ember spoke. "Isn't that Lin, who modeled the skirts, enhancing them with
matching hand sets? Yes, she must dance for us -- with the three skirts
together."
Lin called down silent spirit blessings on the woman for that considerate
suggestion.
Flo got up and hurried across to Lin, carrying the things she needed.
Sam followed her, evidently having been advised what to do. "Yes, the dance of
staff and hands," Flo said.
Suddenly Lin realized what they intended. They did have a dance they had
devised without hand decorations. Now the little skirts had been made a part
of it.
In a moment the skirts were on, and she was facing her band brother, the
leader of their band. "We will show them how we dance," Sam said somewhat
grimly. He was angry about the spot they had been put in, but his anger was
not directed at Lin.
And so they danced, as the nubile maidens gave way to leave them room.
Sam was massively muscular, and he carried his heavy staff, potentially deadly
as a weapon. But he used it in the way they had when relaxing as a tribe
alone, swinging it grandly at her, low, so she could nimbly leap over it. She
did so, her skirts swinging around her body and hands as she turned.
Sam swung again, this time at her head. She raised her hands in foolishly

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inadequate defense -- and the staff bounced off her crossed wrists.
There was a murmur of surprise from the folk watching; Sam had made it look
real, as they did in the game. He could make his muscles bulge with the force
of his strike, yet Lin's touch would deflect it. It was part of the game they
played. Now it made the miniature skirts seem magic.
The audience loved it. It did not take the people long to figure out the
device, but the notion of a little girl having such power against a huge man
was hilarious. And Lin realized that the two of them were good at it; it was a
dance, because their moves were practiced. He had the power and balance of the
effective hunter he was, and she had the nimbleness of the child she was.
They circled the fire once, then finished with a flair: He aimed a huge blow
at her, but she pranced in close and kissed him on the cheek. He staggered
back, as if suffering a mortal blow, while she lifted her hands in victory.
Everyone laughed.
Then they sat down, and the regular show continued. Lin had been too nervous
to be dizzy while afoot, but now she was giddy with relief and flushed with
success. She had danced, and not made a fool of herself. Now she could enjoy
the rest of the gathering without fear.
A hand touched hers. It was Bry, giving her a friendly squeeze. "You were
lovely," he. murmured.
"I think I was," she agreed, appreciating his appreciation and support.
"They were laughing with you, not at you."
"Yes." That was what made it so good.
When the girls were done, a man with a good voice led the group in singing
hunting songs. Then came a storyteller, who held all the children and a number
of adults rapt with his tales of the history of their tribe, to which all
three bands belonged, speaking the same language. He told how they had come
from a huge wonderful land under the setting sun so long ago that even the sun
hardly remembered it, and followed the paths along the line between the
mountainous terrain and the great restless sea, until they found this,

their homeland. He told how life had been wonderful, until the land dried up
and the game fled, so that they had to flee too, staying always near the
water. But now they were in the land the spirits liked, and were doing well.
Lin had heard the tales before, but they always fascinated her. Normally there
was just her band, the women foraging in their territory while me men hunted,
with occasional contacts with their neighboring bands. But this gave her a
much larger view, and she realized that they were part of a people whose
ancestors went way back to that strange good land where the sun set, and that
if that land hadn't dried up, the people would still be there. That was an
awesome concept.
At last it was time to sleep, and the three bands withdrew to their sections,
and the people lay down under their blankets of leaf mat and fur.
Some of the young women, Lin knew, would get under the blankets of men they
had encountered today. The men really liked that. Tomorrow the bands would
return to their own territories, and resume ordinary life. Until the next
gathering, with other bands.
It was fun, yet routine. But Lin had gained something precious, this time:
hope for her own future.
When groups of people exceeded a certain size, the rivalry and quarrelsomeness
of the males became disruptive. This effectively limited the size of
individual bands, and of tribes. But there was a counterforce that seems to be
unique to mankind: the arts. The human species appreciates such arts as song,
dance, tale-telling, and tapestry weaving, and this appreciation enables
larger groups to assemble without quarreling unduly. People can sit and watch
a performance, their attention diverted from their immediate rivalries or
grudges, and can participate in group arts, their energies expressed
positively. Thus the bands of people who appreciated the arts grew larger than
the bands of those without art, and they had more power. If a band of ten

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encountered a band of twenty, competing for a given resource, the band of
twenty would normally prevail. If a tribe could muster more and larger bands
than another tribe could, it was likely to prevail. So the arts may have been
mankind's secret weapon. Art may be what distinguishes our species from all
others, and what enabled us to marshal sufficient cooperating numbers to
conquer the world.
Chapter 6 -- SPIRIT GIRL
Mankind traveled the path of least resistance and best food supply, the
boundary between land and sea. There was always vegetation there, and fish and
clams. Such association with the water inevitably led to the development of
rafts or boats, which were extremely useful for carrying possessions as well
as people. Such boats would gradually become more sophisticated with
experience, and increasingly seaworthy. Their advantages of convenience and
safety could have been such that a culture evolved that was tied into them;
women and children would remain in covered boats, rather than in any landbound
dwellings, and much foraging could have been done directly from them. When a
storm threatened, they would have brought the boats to shore, perhaps beaching
them and tying them to trees -- and remaining in them as shelters. Such folk
could have traveled extremely rapidly, as human migrations go, and quickly
traversed all the available coastlines of the world, and explored the larger
rivers. They did move on down to Australia perhaps 50,000 years ago;
increasingly earlier indications are being found. Since Australia was not
connected by land, they had to have been able to cross some open sea. Thus we
know they had boats 50,000 years ago, despite having found no direct evidence
of them. Similar boats could have taken them on up the east coast of Asia --

all the way to Beringia, the land that once connected Siberia to Alaska -- and
on down the American west coast, and on to the east coast, by circling South
America or crossing the narrow land in Central America and resuming water
travel on the other side. No barrier of ice would have balked them, because
they would simply have boated around it, bundled against the cold and drawing
their food from the sea. Until they reached the warmer latitudes, and foraged
again from the land as well. It could have happened -- but did it? The setting
is the east coast of South America, 33,000 years ago.
"STORM," JES SAID TERSELY. "GET to cover."
Bry looked. She was right; clouds were looming ahead, piling high above land
and sea. Clouds always seemed un-moving when looked at, but could expand
alarmingly when not watched. He grabbed a paddle, and so did Jes. He was a
child and she was a woman, but he knew how to use his paddle, and she was much
like a man in physical structure, so they were able to help. They stroked from
either side, balancing against each other, making it efficient.
Ned turned the rudder, causing the long boat to turn toward land. Sam hauled
harder on the oars, driving it swiftly through the water. He had more arm
power than the rest of them put together, and was the main propulsive force.
The other boat turned similarly. Dirk was rowing that, while Flo steered. He
saw his sister Lin in the other boat, watching out for rocks. She was too
small to be of much help with paddle or rudder, but she had sharp eyes and her
clever fingers were excellent when weaving baskets or tying skirts.
The other women and children stayed out of the way. None of them wanted to get
swamped in a storm.
But they ran afoul of a bad current that tried to carry them back out to sea.
This was unfamiliar territory, so they did not know the local problems.
The water had its paths, just as did the land, and once they were known they
were useful; but when they were strange, they were treacherous. Ordinarily
they could simply work their way around the adverse current, but at the moment
they couldn't afford the time. The storm was advancing rapidly.
"There is a fair current behind us," Ned said. "Turn; it's our best chance."
Sam lifted his oars, panting, while Bry and Jes paddled in opposite
directions, causing the craft to turn about its center. The boat looked

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clumsy, but wasn't; it had an outrigger to stabilize it, and a keel to steady
its direction. They had traveled far in it, forging on northward toward new
shores. Because the old shores to the south were losing their vitality,
getting fished and foraged out. It was always necessary to move on after a
time.
They started moving back, while Ned searched for a suitable emergency harbor.
He called out the new direction, and the boat moved toward it, followed by her
sister craft. But the storm came faster, and now its winds reached out and
tried to suck them into the darkness of it They pushed the craft aside, away
from the proper course.
"Rock!" Ned cried in alarm.
It was on Bry's side, almost submerged. He stuck out his paddle to push
against it, to ease them by it without damage. All of them were versed in such
emergency measures, because hidden rocks were a common threat to fragile
boats. But a wave crashed into them from the other side, half swamping them,
and the sudden force of the current jerked Bry's paddle out of his hands. He
was off-balance, his support suddenly gone. He screamed as he fell into the
rough water.
His head went under before he got oriented and stroked for the surface.
He was a good swimmer, of course; all the shore folk were. But a fierce
current caught him and hauled him around beyond the rock and out to sea.

He had just one lucky break: he saw his paddle floating beside him. He grabbed
it and hung on as the full fury of the storm struck. He knew his family in the
boat would not be able to help him; they had to make it to shore in a hurry,
or all would perish. So he didn't even concern himself with that.
He simply clung to his paddle, knowing that it would help him float without
wearing himself out. He was in trouble, but knew that the danger would be much
worse if he lost his common sense. Right now he had to focus on staying
afloat.
The storm beat down all around him. But he had been in rough water before. He
relaxed, his arms locked around the paddle so that it kept his head lifted,
and held his breath each time the waves got too bad. He could ride it out,
because he mostly floated up and down with the waves, letting them carry him
where they would. He hoped they would not take him impossibly far out to sea,
because if he couldn't see the land, he wouldn't know where to swim.
However, he did know that the land was toward the setting sun, so he might
find it anyway.
There was a jolt, and pain in his side. He had been swept into a rock.
He looked, and saw no blood in the swirling water, which was a relief. It was
just a bruise, not a wound. It was not good to bleed in the water, because
that attracted sharks and crocodiles. If one of them came, he would be quickly
finished.
Could that be the realization of his curse? To get cut in the water, so that
the predators of the sea would tear him apart? Bry tried not to think of that,
but it was impossible not to.
As it happened, the storm soon passed, and daylight remained, and the land was
not far distant. He looked around, hoping to spy a boat, but there was
nothing. He didn't know if they had made it to shore, or sunk, or been carried
out of sight. But the boats were tough and stable; probably they were all
right, somewhere. All he had to do was find them.
First he had to get to land, because it wasn't safe in the water, now that it
was calming. He oriented his paddle for swimming, and started toward the
shore.
Ouch! His left side hurt the moment he tried to stroke with his arms.
His ribs had been bashed in, and though it didn't hurt much when he breathed
shallowly, any greater effort quickly brought warning pain.
He experimented and found that he could still kick hard with his feet without
suffering unduly. So he did that, and made slow progress toward the shore.

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It was almost dark by the time he waded onto land. Mosquitoes formed a cloud
around him. But he knew how to handle them. He searched until he found one of
the plants that repelled them. He took a leaf, chewed on it to break down its
surface, and rubbed it across his face and body. The mosquitoes still hovered,
and landed, but no longer bit; they couldn't get by the juice of the plant.
He saw no sign of the others. If they had come to shore, it wasn't here.
He heard nothing: no sounds of camping, no calling. He knew better than to
walk the shore alone at night; his paddle would serve as staff and club, but
there were creatures who could come at him in the darkness.
His side was aching, now that he was out of the water; the effort of walking
aggravated it He had to get into a protected place where he could rest and
sleep safely. Maybe the others would come looking for him next day, or maybe
he would see the boats passing. He knew they wouldn't simply let him go
without a search; the family always looked out for its own, ever since they
had been orphaned four years ago. But sometimes they did get separated, and
had to look out for themselves.
He found a good tree, and lifted his hands to haul himself up into it.
But his side hurt intolerably, and he couldn't. He would have to find one much

easier to climb, or stay on the ground. He didn't like that.
Bry retied his loin-band and walked along the beach, peering at trees as the
darkness shrouded the forest, but he didn't see anything suitable. The beach
curved, until he was heading west; he must be at the mouth of a great river.
He dipped his hand in the water and tasted it: yes, it was fresh. That was
good. But fresh water was where the crocodiles were, and they did not
necessarily stay in the water if they saw prey close by. He had to find a good
tree.
Maybe there would be a path leading inland. He did not want to go far from the
shore, but he had to find a place to safely rest and sleep. The others would
know to look for him along a path; people never strayed far from paths,
because paths gave direction and competence to their travels.
Then he saw something. It was an outrigger boat, similar to the ones his
family used, but smaller. Then there was a figure walking toward it -- a
woman, in a brief skirt. He had found his family! "Ho!" he called gladly,
walking toward her.
The woman looked his way -- and he realized by her stance and manner that she
wasn't anyone he knew. She was a stranger, and that could mean another kind of
trouble.
He stopped.
Then the woman walked toward him. She was lithe and lovely, every motion
elegant. She had flowing brown hair and eyes to match. Her breasts were
perfectly formed and balanced. In fact, she was the most beautiful woman he
could remember seeing. He was eleven, not yet of age to get serious about
women, but he was stunned by this one.
"You're a boy," she said, as if surprised. Her accent and inflections were
strange, but clear enough. So she was not from a close tribe. "What are you
doing alone? Where is your family?"
"The storm -- the boats -- I don't know."
She smiled understandingly, bringing a thrill to his pulse. "And your ribs are
bruised. You floated in with the paddle. I thought at first it was a spear.
Who are you?"
"Bry," he said. "Of Sam's family."
She cocked her head, thinking. "I don't know that name. But you could have
come from beyond our range, in the boat. I am Anne, of Hugh's family. We have
two children."
So she was married and with children: no prospect for romance even if he had
been of age. It was amazing how well preserved she was. "I was looking for a
tree for the night," he explained. "One I could get into without climbing."
"Lift your arm," she said. When he obeyed, raising it as far as he could

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before the pain increased, she stepped close and touched his bruised ribs. Her
pressure brought a surge of pain, but also pleasure, for even her fingers were
beautiful. "Not broken, I think," she said. "But that will take time to heal.
You will not be able to paddle for a moon or more."
"Yes," he agreed wanly.
"Come with me." She turned and walked away. Her buttocks under the skirt were
as well formed as the rest of her. She was one healthy woman throughout.
He followed, glad that she knew of a suitable tree. But she led him to a path,
and followed the path to a shelter built on a rocky outcropping. It was her
house.
Two naked children emerged: a boy of about five, and a girl of about three.
They stared at Bry.
"This is Bry, of Sam's family," Anne said. "He will stay with us while he
looks for their boats." The children smiled in tentative welcome. "And this is
my son Chip," Anne continued, indicating the boy, who lifted a hand in formal
greeting. "And my daughter Mina." The little girl smiled again, this time
brilliantly. She had black hair and dark eyes, and was a beautiful

creature in her own right. "Get him some fruit."
Both children scrambled back into the house, and emerged a moment later with
ripe fruits. Bry accepted them gladly, suddenly realizing how hungry he was.
Mina touched his hand for a moment, staring into his eyes. He was taken aback;
there was something special about her.
Anne led him into the house. "Make him a bed," she told the children, and
again they scrambled.
He was to stay in their house? "But you don't know me!" he protested. "I
am foreign."
Anne turned her gaze directly on him. "Do you seek to harm any of us?"
she inquired. In that moment he realized that she was aware of her power over
him. His slack expression must have given him away. He could neither hurt nor
deceive such a lovely woman, ever. Or those she protected.
"Never," he said sincerely, and all three of them laughed. "Mina decided you
were all right," Chip said. "She knows."
The little girl had made the decision? Certainly Bry bore this family no
malice, and much appreciated their help, but this was strange indeed. How
could they be sure she wasn't mistaken about a stranger?
"She never is," Chip said, and they laughed again at Bry's expression.
"We got her from a dead place, and she knows the spirits."
"A dead place?"
"She had been left to die," Anne said. "We took her, and the spirits have been
kind to us ever since."
Bry looked at Mina again. Could it be? Flo had left her first baby, because
she had no man and couldn't support a child then. Three years ago. The time
was right. Yet that had been far away, south along the coast. So it couldn't
be. Yet if he looked at the child that way, he could see an aspect of his big
sister in her. Flo had been attractive when younger, before she got fat, and
the dark hair matched. How nice it would be if Flo's child had joined this
nice family!
Mina met his gaze again, smiling enigmatically. "Maybe," she said.
This was eerie.
"Bed's ready," Chip announced. "Try it."
Obligingly, Bry lay on the leafy bed. It was quite comfortable. He hadn't
realized how tired he was. He bit into the fruit, relaxing.
He woke in complete darkness, realizing that he had slept without even
finishing his fruit; it was still in his hand. So he finished the fruit, and
went back to sleep.
In the morning he saw that there was one more in the house: a man. That would
be Hugh. He must have been out hunting until late.
Hugh was already awake, and beckoned as he saw Bry stir. Bry got up and

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followed him outside, leaving the others asleep.
"You have a problem," Hugh said abruptly. "We have a problem too. Mina thinks
you are the answer to ours. Perhaps we can be the answer to yours."
"I need to find my family," Bry said, somewhat diffident in the presence of
the husband of as lovely a creature as Anne. Hugh must have some very strong
ability that didn't show, because he was ordinary in appearance and manner.
"And my ribs make me weak."
"Yes. We feel you should not travel alone at this time. Your ribs must heal.
You can watch the water for boats from here as well as from anywhere, and it
is safer. What we offer you is a safe place to stay while you heal and look.
Foraging and fishing are good, so you will not go hungry."
"But I thought -- only for the night."
"Mina says it will be half a moon before your boats come. They must make
repairs, and there were other injuries."
"But she's a little child! How can she know?"

"Have you looked into her eyes?"
Bry spread his hands, acknowledging refutation. That little child was like
none other he had encountered. "What you offer me is generous beyond anything
owed a friend, let alone a stranger who can't work hard to help," Bry said.
"What is there I can do for you in return?"
"We are entertainers. We make music and dance, and are rewarded with gifts. We
travel in a circuit along the banks of the rivers, from family to family,
staying a few days with each, teaching them what we do. When we finish, we
have only a short distance to go to return to our house here, which is
centrally located. Then we relax for a moon, before starting again. The
children travel with us, and help in what we do."
"They dance?"
"And more. But word has spread of an ailment that is passing through families.
It makes children sicken and die. We do not want our children to be visited by
these malign spirits."
"But how -- ?"
"The spirits seem to move from child to child. They do not move between
families that have no contact. So if our children do not go there, they will
not sicken. But we are a small family, and have had no one else to protect and
care for our children. Now you are here. We ask you to do that."
"But I am a child myself!" Bry protested. "And with my weakness, I can not
protect them."
"Mina believes you can. The spirits give her information. But your boats may
appear in half a moon, while our circuit will require a full moon. We ask you
not to leave until our return. You will not be able to paddle well then
anyway, so perhaps it is not too great a sacrifice."
Bry was somewhat awed by the prospect. "If you think I can do it, I will do it
until you return. I know my family will understand."
Hugh clapped him on the shoulder, with a very light touch so that the ribs did
not react with a jolt of pain. "Then it is agreed. The children will show you
where things are and what to do. And it should not be bad. Mina said there is
one bad time, and a lot of work, but that the rest is good. And she wants to
meet your sister."
Did she mean Flo? What a weird business! "It is agreed," he said.
"Now we shall celebrate the agreement in our fashion," Hugh said. He brought
out a wooden flute and began to play.
Bry was amazed. The man was good -- very good. The notes fairly tumbled over
each other, beautifully, like miniature cascades in a steep stream, making a
melody as intricate and lovely as the spirits of nature themselves.
Bry had heard music before, many times, but had never known that it could be
that beautiful. The man was a true master.
There was a stir at the house. Anne emerged, in a different skirt, this one
made from grass tied together at the waist. She was dancing, her bare feet

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stepping to the music of the flute, and when she spun the grass flung out and
up, showing her thighs, and her hair spread similarly, showing her dainty
ears. What a woman she was!
Behind her came Chip, his legs marching, his hand beating time on a little
drum he carried. And Mina, in her own little grass skirt, rising to her toes
and spinning just as her mother did.
The three of them made their dancing way down to the spot where Hugh was
playing, and finished with an accelerated cadence of drum beat and feet, and a
double whirl that made the skirts rise until they were almost flat disks
around the woman and the girl. The effect was not only artistic, it was
marvelously seductive; Anne surely had devastating impact on grown men,
despite being clearly beyond her maiden stage. Then suddenly everything
stopped, together, and all was still.
Bry realized that his mouth was hanging open. Never before had he seen

an act as coordinated and beautiful as that. They were all so good at what
they did!
"Of course the children are still learning," Hugh said. He played a sudden
riff of notes, and Chip brought out a little flute of his own and was able to
play only a few of them. Anne moved her hips as if her torso had turned to
liquid, then did a high kick with her toe reaching the level of her shoulder;
Mina wriggled her body and kicked as high as her waist. That was still better
than Bry could have done, on any of it. Once again it made him realize that he
would be a man before long.
"Now we must be off," Hugh said. He and Anne fetched hide packs from the
house, slung them on their backs, lifted staffs, and walked down to the river.
"Already?" Bry asked, dismayed.
Mina set her little hand on his. "They will return in a moon," she said
reassuringly, as the two hauled their boat into the water, put the packs into
it, and changed the staffs for paddles. They started paddling efficiently, and
soon disappeared upstream. The children waved them bye-bye, smiling bravely.
But in this, too, Mina wasn't perfect. Bry saw the tears in her eyes. He put
his right arm around her and squeezed reassuringly, though he had substantial
doubts of his own.
"They don't want us to catch fever and die," Chip explained. Then he swallowed
and changed the subject. "Let's fish."
There were spears in the house. This was something Bry did know. They went
down to the river's edge and waited with spears poised. When a fish swam
close, Bry stabbed suddenly with the point of the wooden pole. His ribs gave
him a jolt of pain, but he was lucky: he speared the fish. He brought it up
flopping. He pulled it off and set it in the basket Mina provided, then used a
stone edge to sharpen the point again.
Chip tried for the next fish, with his smaller spear. He missed, and missed
again, but kept trying. "Aim where the fish will go, not where it is,"
Bry suggested, and next time Chip managed to snag one, off-center. It was
another lucky thrust, but it did make it look as if Bry's advice had helped.
The truth, he knew, was that no one could be sure of spearing a fish with any
particular thrust; much patience was necessary, and if every third or fourth
thrust nabbed a fish, that was good.
The children showed him where the best foraging was, along the edge of the
forest, where there were fruit trees, nut trees, berry bushes, and herbs.
The grubs were fat in fallen wood, too. Paths went to all the good places,
showing the truly human nature of this region. It was evident that they would
be eating well; the parents had selected this site for its ready access to
food, and had prepared it well.
In the evening they gathered wood and brought up the fire. They didn't need it
for heat, but for dryness and comfort. They stared into it, and Bry told
stories of his family to entertain the children. They were fascinated by the
way the six children had been orphaned by a terrible storm, being on land

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while their parents tried to bring the boats to shore. Sudden storms were the
bane of shore boaters. Bry told how the eldest, Sam and Flo, had assumed the
job of the lost parents, and after lean times the six of them had finally
gotten established as a wider family itself. But he didn't speak of Flo's rape
and the child she left; the implications were too uncertain.
At last, talked out, they slept. Chip made a point of sleeping in his own bed,
but Mina moved close enough to catch Bry's hand for reassurance. She was a
remarkable little girl, but also, after all, very young.
Three days later it happened. Mina woke tense, looking fearfully around.
Bry saw nothing, but her nervousness made him nervous too. She was too much in
tune with the spirits; her fear might be groundless, but Bry did not care to
gamble on that. So he went out and checked all around the house, looking for

the tracks of predators or for anything unusual in the water. He saw nothing.
Still, he was watchful as Chip and Mina emerged from the house. He knew it
wouldn't help to ask her what she was afraid of; her awareness was not of such
a nature. What she knew came to her on its own, and could not be consciously
evoked. The spirits could not be commanded by living folk.
They had been improving on their fish spearing, day by day; the fish were good
when roasted on the fire, and even when they didn't manage to spear any, it
was fun trying. The days tended to get dull, because they never ranged far
from the house. Dullness was preferable to danger, while the adults were away.
So as the day warmed, they took spears and basket and went to the water's
edge.
But the fish were slow in coming. There was only a mossy log floating slowly
by. They waited patiently; once the log passed, the fish would fill in the
space. Chip squatted, spear posed, and Bry stood behind him, watching.
Suddenly the log opened a huge mouth and lunged at them. Mina screamed almost
before it happened. It was a crocodile! Chip, closest to it, lurched to his
feet, lost his balance, and fell back on the sand. The narrow snout swung
toward him.
Bry brought his spear up and plunged it at the monster. He was only dimly
conscious of the pain at his ribs as he did so; the threat was making it fade.
The point bounced off the tough green snout without doing any apparent damage.
He realized that it was foolish to strike at the hard parts; he needed to go
for the vulnerable ones. So he jabbed at the nearer eye. But it was hard to
score on; the creature was moving, and the eye was small, and when the point
touched it, it closed, and the spear slid on past it.
But at least it was a distraction, for the crocodile did not snap at
Chip. The boy scrambled away, leaving his small spear behind. Mina's screaming
was continuous in the background; this was surely what she had feared, without
knowing its identity.
They retreated from the water's edge, getting clear of the menace. The river
had become fearsome, but the land represented safety, in this case.
However, the crocodile was not giving up. Perhaps realizing that these
creatures were after all vulnerable on land, it crawled on out of the water,
orienting malevolently on Bry. He did not dare turn his back on it, and he was
afraid that if he backed away too fast, he would trip and fall. So he kept
jabbing at the eyes, forcing the heavy eyelids to close, momentarily baffling
the thing.
But something more was needed. Even when fully healthy, he could not hope to
hold off a crocodile for long. This was by no means a large one; it was not
much longer than Bry himself. It must have been attracted to the fish remnants
they had left in the water. But it was big enough to do them real damage, once
its teeth closed on flesh. He had to balk it decisively, so as to make it go
away. He knew it would be impossible to kill it. Those enormously long, mighty
jaws --
Then he had a notion. "A rope!" he cried. "Fetch a rope!" He did not look to
see if the children were doing it, because he dared not take his eyes from the

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crocodile. In the instant he looked away from it, it could loom up and get
him, like a storm cloud.
In a moment Chip was back with the cord woven from fibers. "A loop!" Bry said.
"Make a big loop!"
Fumblingly, the boy worked the cord into a loop, the kind used to hold on to
an outcropping when a person was using the rope to climb. The harder the pull
on the rope, the tighter the loop became.
"Now we must get it over that snout!" Bry gasped.
Chip, showing increasing courage, approached with the loop. But Bry realized
that it was simply too dangerous for the small boy to get that close to the
monster. "Give me the rope!" he cried.

Chip held it out, and Bry grabbed it. He tossed aside the spear, then made a
leap in the direction the crocodile did not expect: toward its mouth.
Nevertheless, its reaction was swift. The snout came up to meet him, the jaws
parting -- and he put the loop over and jerked it tight. He knew he had been
lucky to do it just right on the first try; he might never have gotten a
second chance.
The crocodile whipped its head back and forth, aware of the impediment.
Bry hung on, feeling his ribs being wrenched, but knowing that this was his
only avenue to any kind of victory. He kept jerking on the rope, and with each
jerk the loop pulled more tightly around the snout.
The crocodile lunged at him, the tip of its snout touching his leg. But now it
was closed; the teeth could not bite. Still, the animal seemed to think that
because its jaws were closed, it must have something pinned between them;
it rolled quickly over, trying to drown its catch. But of course this didn't
work. Bry kept stepping back, hauling on the rope.
Finally the crocodile had had enough. It righted itself and scrambled back
toward the water. "But you've got our rope!" Bry cried, following.
He heard a giggle. It was Mina. Then he realized how foolish he was being:
chasing after a crocodile! What was he going to do -- go into the water to
remove the rope? He let go of it and watched the creature splash away. But it
was sad to lose the valuable rope.
It took them some time to relax, after that. Mina led the way, her
apprehension gone. "I knew there was something," she said. "No more."
But Bry was not at all sure of that. Now, with his relaxation, his ribs were
hurting worse; he had done some added wrenching in the heat of the battle.
Suppose the crocodile had clamped its teeth on one of Chip's legs?
They had overcome the creature as much by luck and blunder as by effort.
Suppose another crocodile came -- a larger one? They had had so much trouble
with the small one, even when fighting it on land, which was the human
terrain, that they didn't dare face a larger one.
He came to a decision: he had to make sure that there would never be a larger
one. But how could he do that? At the moment he couldn't think of any way. So
he asked the children.
They were intrigued by the notion. "Maybe rub on more stink leaf, to make it
not bite," Chip suggested.
Bry smiled. That was clever, in its way. If the taste of the bitter leaf on
the skin stopped the mosquitoes, would it stop bigger bites? But it was a
foolish notion. "It would have to bite once, to find out about the taste," he
said. "And one bite is too much."
"Make a wall," Mina suggested. "Keep it out." She liked to make walls in the
sand, keeping the water back for a while.
Bry and Chip laughed. "A BIG wall!" Chip said, lifting a hand to show how
high.
Mina frowned. "Why not?" she demanded.
"Because -- " Chip started, then looked thoughtful. He looked at Bry for
support.
"It might work," Bry said, reconsidering. "But sand wouldn't do it. The

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crocodile would knock it down with its tail."
"Stone," Mina said.
"We couldn't move any stones heavy enough to stop the crocodile," Bry said.
"Wood," Chip said, getting into it.
Bry considered. "Maybe if we hammered stakes into the ground."
They liked that. So their project commenced. They ranged the beach and the
near paths, always together, searching out pieces of wood and carrying or
dragging them back. There turned out to be a considerable number, because
there weren't any other families near to search the beach for firewood. Some

of it wasn't sound, but enough was; they would be able to make their fence.
It turned out to be no easy project. Some of the wood would have been
difficult to manage when Bry was in the best of health, and it was almost
impossible in his present state. But the children helped, and Bry gritted his
teeth and bore as much pain as he could, and they got it moved by slow stages.
Then they had to find rocks to use to pound in the stakes, and if the wood
pounded in readily, it didn't hold, and if the stakes did hold, it was awful
getting them in. Again Bry had to fight the pain as he used his arms for such
work. Mina saw that, and came to touch his ribs, and surprisingly the pain did
diminish, enabling him to work more freely. There was just something about
that little girl! They had to sharpen points on the stakes, as if they were
spears, and some had to be braced by lesser sticks that couldn't make fence
stakes on their own. These were tedious tasks, and progress was slow. Bry
thought the children would soon tire of the effort, but they didn't; the scene
with the crocodile must have scared them more than they admitted, and they
wanted to be safe. Also, they were good children, remarkably responsible for
their ages. That spoke well for their parents.
Their parents. Bry remembered the beautiful music Hugh had made, and the
phenomenal dancing Anne had done. That sound and that image would remain
forever in his memory.
It became a system. Mina sharpened points by rubbing small rough stones across
the narrow ends of the stakes. Chip held each stake steady, upright, while Bry
pounded it in. He found that it helped to drag a good-sized rock across to the
stake, so that he could stand on the stone and hammer from a greater height.
When the stake was down as far as it would go, Chip used a smaller rock to
pound in bracing pieces, getting the main stake firm. They had to place
half-buried stones around it to brace it, because the sand was never
completely firm, but the end result was pretty good. The work was wearing, and
they had to rest between stakes, and they got only a few done the first day,
but they were highly satisfied with their accomplishment. A line of several
crooked but firm stakes extended from the shelter toward the river. Of course
it wasn't enough, because the crocodile could simply go around it, but it was
the start of their wall.
Next day they did more, extending the line along the side of the path.
Bry began to wonder, perversely, whether there was really a point to this hard
labor, suppose no crocodile ever came again?
Then, late in the day, the crocodile returned. They had been nervously alert
for it throughout. It had gotten the noose off its nose, and seemed as
aggressive as ever.
Chip and Mina screamed and ran in different directions. Bry picked up the
stake he had been about to start pounding and carried it toward the reptile.
The creature was chasing Mina, who darted a desperate look at Bry and ran to
the end of the line of posts, then dodged around them and ran on to the house.
The crocodile came to the posts and went up the other side, trying to move
directly toward the girl. There was space between the posts, so it could track
Mina, but not enough to let it pass through.
This gave Bry a notion. "Chip! Here to the fence!"
Chip, by this time far afield, came in. The two of them stood just opposite
the crocodile, who couldn't get at them. It lacked the wit to go around, so

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kept poking its nose into the spaces between stakes, and as quickly being
balked. The tip of its snout was narrow enough to pass, but not its full head
or body.
"Go away!" Chip cried, and picked up a handful of sand and flung it at the
creature. The sand did no harm, but was very satisfying to throw.
Mina came out, realizing that they had found safety of a sort. She picked up a
small stone and threw it through the fence. It bounced off the

crocodile's nose.
That set them all off. They heaved double handfuls of sand through, so much
that it started piling up around the creature, at one time half burying its
snout. But the crocodile couldn't do anything about it, except go away --
which, reluctantly, it did. It didn't seem to occur to the creature that it
could have come around the fence; once it headed for the water, it kept going.
They had won their second engagement more handily and safely than their first
-- thanks to the partial fence.
That gave Bry an idea. "We don't need to line the path both sides," he said.
"Just one side -- and be on the other side."
But they realized that this would not necessarily be easy to arrange. By
chance the crocodile had come up on the side opposite to the one Mina had
taken, but next time it might take the same side. How could they guarantee it
would be on the wrong side?
They discussed it, and Chip came up with the answer: climb over the fence. But
how could they do that quickly enough? The stakes were high enough so that
getting over the fence was awkward. They thought of putting a pile of stones
against it, that they could use to get high enough to step over it --
but suppose the crocodile did the same?
But that idea turned out to be better than it had at first seemed.
Suppose they put stones against one side -- and not on the other? People could
jump down from that height with no problem -- but what about a crocodile?
Accustomed to the level water, would it care to tumble off a high fence, to
land snout-first? That seemed unlikely. But if it did, it would still surely
take some time -- time they could use to get clear. Or to cross back to the
other side of the fence.
So they set up several piles of rocks, on both sides of the fence, but never
right across from each other. Each was like a path leading nowhere, from one
side or the other. Would it work? They would simply have to find out.
They resumed work on the fence, pounding stakes between sessions of foraging
for food. They did not yet have the courage to try spear fishing again; they
went to the water only to drink, and did that as a group, quickly, with two
watching the sides while the third drank. But once they completed the fence,
and knew that it worked -- then maybe they would try for the fish again.
Several days later they had their chance. The fence was now much of the way
toward the water, because they were getting better at it as they went.
They went for a drink, because the labor made them thirsty, and Mina spied the
crocodile. She screamed warning.
"Go on each side of the fence," Bry said, and the two of them ran toward it.
Then, just to make sure the crocodile gave chase, Bry threw sand at it.
The creature lunged out of the water, snapping at him. Bry backed away,
retreating no farther than was expedient. He had his spear, but merely
gestured with it; he had no intention of fighting the reptile if he didn't
have to.
It came after him, uncomfortably fast. Bry realized that it probably could
outrun him, when it tried. He needed to get farther away from it. He turned
and ran for one side of the fence, then paused. Both children made faces and
rude noises at the crocodile, daring it to advance. And in a moment it did,
going after Mina, the smallest and probably tastiest morsel. Chip, on the
other side, made rude noises at it, but it ignored him for the moment.
Mina waited as long as she dared, then ran up the stone stile and paused. The

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crocodile was still coming. She jumped off to the other side, crying, "Wheee!"
She landed in the sand, lost her balance, and fell, but was in no danger: the
crocodile hadn't even mounted the ramp.
They stood opposite it, teasing it, as before, but the creature seemed to be
unable to figure out what the stiles were for. It tried to get at them

through the fence, without any hope of success. When they moved up the fence,
beyond the ramp Mina had used, the reptile scrambled over the base of the ramp
to get around it, and came back to the fence.
"Crocodiles are stupid," Chip said contemptuously.
"Yes," Bry agreed. "But don't go near it." The boy nodded. Stupid did not mean
safe.
The crocodile returned to the water, again not even trying to circle the
fence. It seemed that they had found a good defense against it.
They kept working the following days, completing the fence, which stopped just
short of the water's edge. They made ramps at frequent intervals, so that they
would never be far from one. And, as an afterthought, they made an extension
across the path near the house, so that the crocodile could not ever get
inside. They made ramps to cross it, but offset them so that it was still
necessary to jump down, whichever way a person crossed. Just in case the
reptile one day figured out how to use a ramp.
They remained alert, and that was just as well, because the crocodile did come
again. They readily foiled it. "But remember," Bry warned the others, fearing
overconfidence. "If it ever gets hold of you, you're done. The fence won't
help then." They nodded, appreciating the point.
Now, with the menace of the crocodile somewhat abated, Bry was able to watch
for his family's boats again. He had fretted, privately, when he couldn't do
that, for fear they would row by and never know he was here.
They got up courage to try spear fishing again. Mina was on watch while the
other two focused on the fish. Chip, his arm perhaps stronger after all the
practice pounding support stakes, managed to spear a fish through the tail and
pull it out of the water.
Then Mina cried out, making them both jump away from the water. But it wasn't
the crocodile. "Boat! Boat!" she exclaimed.
It couldn't be Hugh and Anne returning, for only half a moon had passed.
Bry had made marks on a wall of the shelter, one little line for each day, and
a connecting line for each seven days. Four such larger units would signal the
time for return. There were only two.
So it had to be the other. "My family!" he said. "You said they would come
now."
"Yes," she agreed, remembering. "I must meet your sister."
Who almost might be her natural mother. Because Mina had been saved from a
dead place as a baby, about the time Flo had left her baby. Except that the
places had been far separated. So it couldn't be. Yet he couldn't be certain
in his doubt.
They waved, and the boat spied them and stroked in to shore. It was Dirk
rowing, and Flo steering, and Lin searching from the prow. Trust his sister to
spy him first!
The boat heaved part way up on the beach. Lin leaped out and ran lightly to
embrace Bry. "I knew you were safe!" she said though her tears. "I just knew
it!" Then she oriented on the children. "Well, hello," she said over his
shoulder.
"You must have become a man quite rapidly," Dirk remarked, smiling.
Bry released Lin and turned. "These aren't my children," he said, embarrassed
though he knew it was humor. "They are Chip and Mina, of Hugh and
Anne's family." He turned back. "And this is my closest sister, Lin."
Mina approached shyly. "You have the hand," she said.
Lin's left hand was closed into a fist, the way she normally kept it to
conceal her deformity. She glanced at Bry.

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"I never said," Bry said hastily. "Mina -- she just knows things. The spirits
tell her."
Lin extended her arm and opened her hand. Mina looked at the fingers, and
nodded. "It's a good hand," she said.

Dirk and Flo came up behind Lin. Flo had Baby Flint, now one year old, in the
harness on her back. Bry started to introduce them, but Mina launched herself
into Flo's embrace before he got the words out. "Why did you leave me?"
Flo's mouth fell open. "Can it be?"
Mina wriggled free. "Look at my toes." She stood on one foot, lifting her
other foot with her hands.
Flo bent to look, and saw the birthmark between the toes. Astonished, she sat
down in the sand. "My baby," she breathed. "How -- ?"
"They found her in a dead place," Bry said. "But it was near here. They have
not been far south."
"Then it can't be," Flo said. "Yet -- "
"The hair, the eyes," Dirk said. "They match yours. The cheekbones, the chin.
She's yours."
Flo began to sob. Mina put her little arms around her, comfortingly.
"Why did you leave me?" she repeated.
"I had no man," Flo said. "I could not support you. Now I could, but then
there was no way. So I left you. Then I changed my mind, and returned, but you
were gone, and it was best. Since then I have thought of you every day,
wondering, hoping -- "
Bry was amazed. It was impossible, yet this did seem to be his sister's child.
"Now you have one of your own," Mina said.
"Yes." Still sitting, Flo lifted him out of the pack and brought him around to
the front. "This is Flint."
"Hello, Flint," Mina said solemnly.
Meanwhile Dirk was getting along with the other child, as he usually did.
"What is that you have made, my good little man?"
"A fence," Chip explained. "To keep out the crocodile."
"There is a crocodile after you?"
"Yes. It comes almost every day. But we hide behind our fence."
Dirk looked perplexed. "But suppose it comes on your side?"
"I'll show you," Chip said gleefully. "You be the crocodile."
Dirk quickly got into the game. He put his hands down on the sand and lunged
at the boy. Chip ran around the end of the fence. Dirk did a beautiful job of
almost crashing headfirst into it. Then he paused, pondered a moment, and made
his way around it to get on the boy's side.
Chip ran up the nearest ramp and jumped over. Dirk came to the ramp, sniffed
it, and then slowly climbed on it. He reached the top, peered over, and
stopped. "I'd land on my snout," he said.
"So would the crocodile," Chip pointed out.
Dirk nodded gravely. "So it would. This is a good defense. But how did you
make it?" He reached out and took hold of a post, pushing against it.
"This is firm."
Bry explained how they all had worked so hard on it.
"With your ribs bruised," Dirk said, looking at him, seeing the way he favored
that side. Dirk knew about bruised ribs.
"We had to get it done," Bry said.
"So you did." He seemed impressed.
"Where are your parents?" Lin asked Chip, and the boy explained about that.
Dirk looked at Flo. "We can't take Bry yet; he hasn't finished his commitment
here. The other boat won't be back for some time. We'd better camp here until
the parents return."
Flo nodded, looking at Bry. "We know what it's like to survive without
parents."
"You can stay in our house," Chip said eagerly. "There's room."

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Flo and Dirk exchanged another glance. "They surely do have room," Dirk said.
"While the parents are away. Let's use their house, and return what favors we
may."
So it was done. Dirk and Flo took the section where Hugh and Anne normally
slept, and Lin found room at the edge, with the children scrambling to fashion
a bed for her. It would be crowded, but could be managed.
Bry was much relieved. He hadn't realized how much tension he had had, until
it dissipated. He hadn't known for sure that the rest of his family had
survived, or that they would find him. It seemed that the boats had been
carried far south, and the others had no idea where he had gone ashore -- or
if he had. He could tell by the way that Lin was letting go that she had been
under similar tension. Now it was all right, and all of them could relax.
The next morning Dirk got serious about return favors. "That crocodile -
- we are going to take care of it," he said grimly.
They went about it methodically. The spear fishing that had been such an
adventure for Bry and the children was inconsequential for Dirk; he quickly
speared several fish, and cut them to pieces with his stone knife, and tossed
the pieces back into the water. Before long that summoned the crocodile. Then
Dirk stood back and let the children lure it out. When it was well up on the
beach, Dirk cut it off from the water and went after it with two spears. The
reptile that had been so bold against children found it another matter against
a competent grown man who had killed crocodiles before. He poked it in the
tail, and when it whirled around to snap at the spear, he poked it in the
snout. He kept poking it, confusing it, until it stopped reacting and tried to
charge him. Then he jammed the spear hard at its face, so that its own
momentum added to the power of the thrust. Soon it had been stabbed through
eye and belly, and was thrashing on the sand. Dirk looped its snout with a
loop, and Bry held the rope taut while Dirk carved open the reptile's throat
with a stone blade. Slowly the beast died.
Then came the work of carving it up. Crocodile meat was good, and so was the
tough hide; they were not going to waste any of it. By the end of the day
sections of crocodile were hanging from the branches of nearby trees. They
made a big fire and roasted enough for an excellent meal. They would dry as
much of the remaining meat as possible in the sun, and keep it for Hugh and
Anne to use when they returned.
The day after that they took the children out for a boat ride. Though
Chip and Mina were part of the boat culture, as all people were, their
family's boat was small, and used only when they traveled to a new home base,
or when on tour. Normally they lived on the shore, in protected houses like
the present one. They never went far out to sea; they hugged the shore, so
that if any storm or creature threatened they could immediately get to land.
So it was a real experience for them to go far out in the big boat with oars.
Dirk rowed and Flo steered, as usual; Dirk and Sam were always the rowers,
having the most brute power. Because the rower faced backward --
another novelty to the children -- and the one with the rudder was at the back
of the boat, a young person normally perched in the prow to watch forward. Lin
did that, taking the children up by turns to be awed by the prow cutting
swiftly through the water.
Bry sat in the middle with the other child and Baby Flint. He faced back,
watching the rear and side. "We have to watch all the time," he explained,
"because we are crossing deep water and don't want to be surprised by
anything."
Chip, with him for the moment, peered over the edge of the boat, down through
the water, and then turned his head quickly back to the boat. He looked a bit
dizzy. "It's so deep!"
"Yes," Bry agreed. "You can see things down there. Big fish, big turtles,
sometimes seaweed, looking like a dark forest. It's peaceful."

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"And you even sleep in the boat?"
"Yes, usually. We take turns lying down in the center, with one or two people
always alert, even when we're not moving. Our boat is the safest place we can
be -- except when there's a storm."
"I thought I'd be scared," the boy confessed. "But you're right: it does feel
safe. It's so big and steady."
"The outrigger steadies it, just as it does on your boat," Bry said. It was
nice being the expert on things.
Then Mina crawled to the center. "Your turn," she announced. "There's even a
wind up there."
The boy crawled forward, and Mina made herself comfortable between Bry and the
baby, facing back. Like girls of any age, she was intrigued by babies.
"It moves so fast," she said.
"That's because of the rowing," Bry explained, nodding back at Dirk right
behind him. "He pulls hard with both arms, instead of pulling with one and
pushing with the other, the way you do with a paddle. But we paddle too, when
we need to."
Baby Flint got bored or uncomfortable, and started fussing. Mina pulled him on
to her lap, and he was quiet.
"You have the touch," Flo said appreciatively.
"Yes. The spirits are with me."
"I wish you were mine."
There was a silence. Then Bry became aware of something. They were all in the
boat, and the boat was bearing south, toward a likely rendezvous with the
family's other boat. They could just keep going. The children couldn't get
off.
Had Dirk and Flo planned this? Bry was alarmed.
Mina lifted her head and looked at Flo. Bry saw only the glossy back of the
little girl's head, but somehow realized that she was crying. There was no
sound, no motion, but surely there were tears.
Then Flo's eyes changed, and tears came from them. She turned the rudder, and
the boat began to turn. They were going back to the children's house.
Bry realized that there had been a tacit contest of wills, and the little girl
had won. Mina loved her present family and didn't want to leave it. Flo wanted
her baby back, but couldn't take her by force. No one could take anything from
Mina by force. The spirits wouldn't allow it.
No further words were spoken. The issue had been decided. Dirk surely
understood, and was keeping silent. Bry would keep silent too.
They resumed foraging and fishing, and Dirk explored the nearby forest.
They were passing time until the parents returned.
When the moon was done, the small boat reappeared, from the opposite
direction; they had completed their circuit, portaging inland to reach another
stream.
Chip and Mina rushed out, joyfully welcoming their parents back. Dirk, Flo,
Bry, Lin, and Baby Flint waited by the fence. The children would introduce
them soon enough.
They did. It took a while for everything to be explained, including the
crocodile and the fence, but it got done. Then, as abruptly as Hugh and Anne
had done, Dirk and Flo made ready to depart. "We came for our brother," Flo
explained. "We have found him. Now we will take him back, and rejoin the rest
of our family. We thank you for rescuing him."
"But he rescued us!" Anne protested. "Without him, we couldn't have done the
tour alone. We see that he did an excellent job." She glanced meaningfully at
the fence. "You must stay and let us repay you for all the trouble you have
taken."

But Flo shook her head. Bry realized that she wanted to get quickly away,
before she revealed something she thought was best left secret. It was better

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that Anne not know. So he made a suggestion. "They can reward us with a song
and dance. It won't take long. Then we'll go."
Dirk looked perplexed, but shrugged agreeably. So they sat in the sand, and
Hugh brought out his flute, and Chip his drum, and the woman and the girl did
a dance to music that quickly made Dirk discover the point of it all. Bry was
glad to see his impression verified: this was a thing awesome to grown men.
He looked at Flo, and saw her fascinated too, but in a different way.
She was seeing how well integrated her baby was in this nice family, learning
to be a dancer, bound to become attractive as a woman in a way Flo, who was
now fairly fat, was not. Mina belonged where she was; this was now quite
clear.
When it was done, they moved to the boat. "Will we meet again?" Hugh asked.
"I think not," Flo said firmly. "We are going far north, looking for new
shores. It is our way."
Bry knew that meant that Flo intended to put herself well away from
temptation. He knew that was best. But it was sad to think he would never be
with the children again. This had been, despite the pain of his ribs and
uncertainty of separation, as good an experience as he could remember. He had
been, for half a moon, the man of a wonderful little family.
Mina ran to hug Bry one last time. She kissed him on the cheek. "Never forget
me," she said.
"I never will," he agreed sadly, knowing how true that was. And he knew she
would never tell their true relationship.
Thus the boat folk may have explored all the coasts of the Americas,
proceeding south along the west, circling the tip of South America, and moving
north back to North America. Whether they had advanced to the level of oar
locks and backward-facing rowing may be in doubt, but certainly mankind had
boats capable of such excursions, because Australia was colonized 40,000 to
50,000 years ago by boat. There is some marginal evidence of their presence in
South America as long as 35,000 years ago, at sites like Monte Verde in modern
Chile and Pedra Furada in Brazil, where radiocarbon dates as far back as
32,000 years ago have been obtained. Cave art there has been dated as 17,000
years old. The site of Meadowcroft Rock Shelter in Pennsylvania, USA, dates to
circa 17,000 years ago. The significance of such discoveries is this: Prior
wisdom sets a limit for the colonization of America from Asia of about 12,000
years ago. This is because before then the way was blocked by glaciers across
part of Alaska and all of Canada, extending to the sea on either side of the
continent. Only when the ice retreated could a land crossing have been made.
The evidence of the stones suggests that this was the case; the distinctive
fluted Clovis points date from this time.
If, however, the continents were settled 20,000 years before the ice cleared,
by people in boats, why is there so little evidence of their presence? Why did
the pattern of extinctions of large game animals commence only 12,000 years
ago? Why wasn't America already full of millions of settlers, repelling the
newcomers from the Asian side of the ice? Well, there is some evidence that
when the glaciers retreated, mankind moved north to
Alaska from the region of the western United States, rather than the other
way. But this is controversial as yet, with archaeologists having some trouble
getting such a politically incorrect thesis published in reputable journals.
It also does not address the question of why the limited evidence suggests a
far earlier colonization of South America than North America. If the boat folk
circled the southern continent as described in this setting, what happened to

them? Surely they couldn't simply vanish after 20,000 years.
But they may have done just that. The boat folk may have been limited by their
life-style to the coast, seldom moving far inland. Culture has strong
continuity, especially when buttressed by the economics of survival. They
depended on the water for their food, and never penetrated the enormous
continental interiors where their home-boats couldn't go. Their numbers were

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limited, and they came not as a single massive invasion, but as a long series
of trickles. Their tribal and band numbers may have been insufficient to
enable them to expand their population significantly, as discussed in Chapter
5, so they were always thinly spread. Storms would have been a constant
danger, because of the vulnerability of their boats. Then two things could
have finished them and their works: a massive invasion of landbound folk
12,000 years ago, displacing or absorbing them without remaining genetic trace
in the course of several thousand years, and the waters of the seas rising
with the melting of the ice, covering or washing out most of the physical
traces of their presence. So they were gone so completely that they were
thought never to have existed. Until little bits of evidence appeared, widely
scattered. Such as the chipped stones at the sites mentioned, and the genetic
evidence of a tribe living eight thousand years ago in Florida: related to
none of the three main Native American groups, but to folk now living in
Japan. In short, a remnant of coastal folk. They were the true first
Americans.
Chapter 7 -- BONE HOUSE
One frontier was that of the cold northlands. The great glaciers of the arctic
had not yet retreated. Much of Europe was covered, but less of Asia;
apparently the most massive ice formed downwind from the oceans. Between the
ice and the tropic was the vast panorama of Siberia, where bison and mammoths
roamed. Here life could be lean indeed, and people were dependent on big
animals for food, clothing, and shelter. One indication of the times is the
art they left behind: the "Venus" figurines, generally the torsos of naked
women, often hugely fat. They might be missing heads and feet, but they had
breasts and genitals, making clear what was important. Why so corpulent?
Probably because when food was scarce, or available only intermittently, it
was a significant advantage to be able to store it on the body, where its
energy was always available. Especially for women, who had children to bear
and nurse. Thus the feminine ideal became fat. In times of plenty, in
contrast, the ideal becomes slender. Today in North America, the land of
affluence, the Perfect Woman is supposed to be anorexically thin. However,
there is doubt that historically many women could become even moderately fat,
so there may have been one in a band who was truly corpulent: the wet nurse.
Her huge breasts could feed the children of mothers who died in childbirth,
thus preserving lives that would otherwise be lost, and so strengthening the
group. Perhaps she would also feed any young children of the group, so that
they could be healthy even when their mothers were not quite adequate. Such a
service would probably have been very much appreciated, leading to veneration
of this type of female body; it enabled the group to preserve its children.
But there was another innovation, similarly striking, in housing. The place is
Siberia, 20,000 years ago.
FLO WAS DESPERATE. BRY WAS ill and rapidly getting worse. He had gotten his
ribs bashed in a river accident, had been lost for a time, but survived nicely
with a neighboring family. Now they had him back -- and he had forgotten
caution, tried too hard on a hunt, and re-injured himself. He had been able to
walk, but it hadn't stopped there; now the boy was feverish. She

knew how to care for him, but lacked the facilities.
Normally when they traveled to a new hunting site they cut sturdy saplings to
make a framework for a conical house. The poles were tied together at the top,
and spread out to form a circle; then the band's cache of hides was stretched
over the pole framework and tied tight with cords. Stones anchored the base of
the hides, making a nice tight shelter they could heat with a fire at its
entrance. Two days of a warm shelter and a steady healing chant would drive
out the boy's illness, and he would begin recovering.
But this new territory was a harsh windswept plain. No trees were near, and no
natural shelter. That wind was tearing into Bry's clothing, pulling away the
heat of his body, draining his vitality when he needed it most. If they had to

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spend a cold night on the ground, he would be finished. They could wrap him in
hides, and lie close around him, but he would still be breathing the chill
air. That was no good. The spirits were hovering near him, and they would take
him if he did not find physical and magical protection.
She looked around. Maybe they could gather rocks, and make a circle high
enough to serve as an effective windbreak, and stretch the hides over the top.
They had done that on occasion when wood wasn't sufficient. But she didn't see
any rocks; there were surely some scattered around, but clearly not enough to
do the job in the time they had. In any event, Sam and Dirk were out hunting,
so weren't here to haul the heavy stones. Ned was here, but he was a lean
young man, not powerful, not made for heavy physical labor. Jes was very
similar to him, though she was a young woman. She was a good forager and a
hard worker, but no rock hauler. Flo herself was way too fat for that sort of
thing, and Wona too skinny and disinterested in hard work. So rocks were out.
She looked at Bry. He was sitting on the ground, hunched together. Lin was
trying to help him, but was plainly inadequate. No, they had to have a good
shelter. And there was none to be had.
"We'll camp here," Flo decided, determined to be decisive. There were, after
all, the others to see to. They would have to eat and get through the night,
hoping that tomorrow would bring the men with fresh meat. Their success had
not been great recently, so that the berries and roots foraged by the women
served as the main sustenance. Flo had been able to gain weight on that diet,
but not the others. Thus Flo was an ideal figure of a woman, with the evidence
of her survivability layered on her body. She came closest of her generation
to matching the standard of the goddess dolls which for as long as any
tale-teller remembered had represented the pinnacle of the female form.
But she was lucky; the others needed animal flesh to feed them, as well as
foraging.
"I'll forage for firewood," Ned said.
"I'll forage for berries," Jes said.
"Go with them," Flo told Lin. "I'll take care of Bry." The girl looked
doubtful, but obeyed. Flo sat down next to Bry and pulled him in to her to her
copious bosom to share her warmth. He was shivering despite being well
bundled. "We'll get you through this somehow," she told him, but she was
afraid she lied.
She bared her huge breast and nursed Bry, as was the custom when the need was
great. He was her brother, twelve years old and soon to be a man, but he
needed sustenance. The youngest ones could get by on less, for a while. He
smiled at her, wearily, and relaxed, reassured. Soon he was sleeping. She
hugged him, aware of his burning heat; he would not sleep well, but any sleep
was better than none. He was family; she had to help him all she could.
The two children, Wilda and Flint, came to join Flo, as they usually did. They
were two years old and mostly weaned. Flo had nursed longer and better than
Wona, having the body for it, and so both children seemed like hers now though
Wilda was actually Wona's. Wona had never evinced any great interest in
sustaining her daughter; she had wanted a boy, and resented the

fact that Flo had been the one to get a son.
Wona looked around, then wandered off, theoretically to forage. Flo regarded
her as a loss; she seldom pulled her share if she could avoid it, and was
generally a force for dissension. But there wasn't much to be done about it;
she was Sam's wife, and Sam still doted on her. Apparently Sam could see no
further than her beauty, such as it was; she was way too lean to handle a
winter properly. But it was better to have her out of sight than here, Flo
concluded; but for Sam, she'd have driven the woman out of the band long ago.
She reflected again on the irony of the way things had worked out. At the time
Flo and Sam had gotten their mates from the same neighbor band, it had seemed
that Wona was the bargain, and Dirk the loss. It was the other way around.
Lin came bounding back, her hair flouncing under the tight hair net The girl

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was small for her age, but pretty, except for that hand. Sometimes Flo wished
they had simply cut off the extra finger, back when the girl was a baby. But
it hadn't happened, and now it was too late. She was twelve years old, the
same as Bry, and very soon, food and climate permitting, would become a
beautiful if thin young woman. But the years would put some mass on her, when
needed.
"Bones! Bones!" Lin cried, excited.
So they had found some bones. Scattered across the landscape there were bones,
because when animals died the bones were what didn't dissolve away.
Many of their tools and weapons were made of carved bones, including some
savagely barbed spears. Why did that so excite the girl?
"Bones!" Lin said again as she arrived. "All over! Big! Dry! Piles of them!"
Flo didn't want to deflate her, but didn't see the point. "We need food and
scraps of wood for a fire," she reminded the girl gently. "And poles for a
shelter. Your brother -- "
"The bones -- Ned says the bones will help -- they're bringing them. I
must go help haul." And she ran away again, following the faint path she had
picked out.
What good would old bones do? They would have no usable marrow. But then
Flo remembered that some bones would burn, if the fire was hot enough. Not as
good as wood, but better than nothing. So maybe it was worthwhile.
Then Ned and Jes came into sight, looking like two young men, hauling on
something. Flo strained her gaze, trying to make it out, without disturbing
Bry. It was low to the ground and very long, like a pole. Its dragging end
furrowed the ground, clearly marking what had been a faint path.
Then her mouth fell open. It was a tusk! A mammoth tusk. Almost as long as two
people lying end to end. What a monster!
Panting, they brought it near. "We can make a house with these," Jes said.
"There are so many!"
As a substitute for wooden poles. Now Flo saw the logic. "But that thing is
curved," she said, getting practical. "They won't make a good point for the
top."
"We'll tie them together anyway," Ned said. "If we can just get enough of them
here."
Flo had a flash of inspiration. "If there are so many there -- we should go
there. Easier to move ourselves, than such heavy bones."
Ned paused. "You make me feel stupid," he said. "Of course we should build it
there."
Had she really figured out something he had not? Flo wasn't sure. Ned was very
bright. Maybe he had simply wanted her to suggest it. "Maybe we'll build
another one here, later," Flo said. "But for now, let's go there."
She lifted Bry, who stirred sleepily. "We must move, Bry," she said.
"But then we can rest. I will carry you." She knew he would have protested,

had he had the strength, but he didn't.
Ned and Jes helped get the boy up in her arms. Then Flo marched after the two
of them, following the scuffed line. She was used to carrying her own
considerable weight around; she could handle his too, for a while.
The bones turned out to be in a hollow that looked as if it had once been a
bend of a river. Perhaps a temporary flood during a heavy rain, that had
carried the bodies along with it, then pooled here, leaving the bones when it
sank away. There certainly were a lot of them; she had never seen such a white
jumble. A dozen mammoths, maybe.
But first things first. She found a clear place and laid Bry down. "Can you
build it here?"
"Anywhere," Ned said. "We just need to figure out how to do it."
"Tie the bones together," Flo said. "Lin and I will make rope."
But he hesitated. "These bones are big. The framework will be big. Our hides
won't cover all of it."

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So he had thought it through. He had a good notion of what to do, and had
anticipated the problem. Big irregular bones could not make as efficient a
house as straight wood poles, and they had no hides to spare. A house with big
holes would be largely useless as shelter, because the cutting wind would keep
the interior cold.
She looked again at the vast jumble of bones all around them. They were all
sizes, but only the tusks were as long as good construction poles. Unless they
made the house entirely of tusks -- but there weren't that many good ones.
They were stuck with an inefficient big bone-pile shelter -- or nothing.
"Put the hides inside," Lin suggested.
Jes laughed. Whoever heard of such a thing? But Ned looked thoughtful.
"Could we tie them in place?" he asked.
"We can sew them in place," Flo said. "Pass threads through the stitches, then
loop them over the tusk-poles. It will be clumsy, but it can be done."
"Then it shall be done," Ned agreed. "Lin can work with you on the hides; Jes
can work with me."
"What about Wona?" Lin asked mischievously.
"She can choose," Jes said, grimacing. "When she shows up." By tacit agreement
they did not openly speak ill of their brother's wife.
They got to work. Ned and Jes hauled bones into a nearby pile and separated
the tusks. Lin ran to dig out their supply of twine, but realized that it
wouldn't be enough for this. But some distance away from the bones they had
seen a mass of shed mammoth hair, so she went for that and carried it back.
Flo drew out lengths of it and twisted them into a serviceable cord.
They would need a lot.
Wona showed up. She surveyed the situation, then went to join Ned. Flo was
surprised; usually the woman chose the least rigorous task to work on. But
this time Wona threw herself into it and seemed really to be helping. They did
need the help, because there were so many bones to move, and some of them
evidently weighed more than any two people together did.
Bry stirred. Flo laid a hand on his forehead. He was still burning. "We are
making a house," she told him. "Soon it will be warm." He sank back into his
troubled sleep.
"It must be warm," Lin breathed. She was Bry's closest sibling, their two
mothers having birthed them within days of each other, with the same father,
and the two were also emotionally close. Just as Jes was to Ned, and
Flo herself to Sam. Lin was in most respects a fine girl, but she would be a
wreckage if Bry died. She had been distraught when Bry had been lost, and came
to life again only when they found him. There had been a time when Bry had
teased her about her fingers, and she had thrown dirt in his face, but that
was long past; now he was her stoutest defender. The girl was neither crying

nor showing particular concern now, and that was a troublesome sign, because
normally she expressed herself freely. She surely thought that to admit there
was a problem would be to give it power. And, indeed, the spirits did seem to
operate that way at times.
Meanwhile the construction of the house proceeded. Ned laid out the parts in
an expanding pattern that resembled a giant flower, with the largest tusks in
the center. Flo wasn't sure what the point was, but knew that he had a reason.
Wona continued to labor industriously, even working up enough heat to enable
her to shed her outer jacket, just as Jes had; what was the matter with the
woman?
Then they started assembling it. Ned heaved the point of one giant tusk up to
waist height, which wasn't hard because this was the light end, and the curve
of the thing allowed it to rest its center on the ground. Jes hauled another
tusk up similarly. They walked toward each other, swinging their two points
around, until they crossed like two enormous spears. Then Wona took a length
of cord and wound it around the tusks where they crossed, tying them together.
Flo couldn't hear their dialogue, but knew that Ned was giving instructions,

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so that their acts were coordinated.
They laid down the tied tusks, which now formed a huge semicircle. They picked
up two more, and bound them together similarly. Then two more, smaller ones.
Flo still couldn't fathom the purpose.
They took yet smaller tusks and used the points to dig in the ground in
several places around the edge of the circle. What was the point of that?
Then they heaved the first set up again, this time all the way, until they
were holding it up so that it formed an arch higher than any of them could
reach. The two base ends of it were set in two of the holes in the ground they
had made. Aha; now she saw it. Anchorages, just as they normally did with
wooden poles. They got the arch steady, and two of them let go, leaving Jes
holding it up. The arch weighed several times what she did, but she was able
to keep it balanced. The other two rolled mammoth skulls to the two bases of
it, bracing it in place, and wedged smaller bones around, until
Jes was able to let it go. There it stood, like a rainbow made of ivory.
Now they hauled up the second arch, which was slightly smaller than the first.
They got it standing crosswise, its bases in two more holes, so that its
highest point was under the highest point of the first one. They braced it
similarly, until it too stood by itself.
The third arch was the easiest, angled against the other two, passing under
both. They braced it until it stood.
Then they rolled a larger skull to a point in the center, under all three
arches. Wona stood on it and reached up with cord. But she wasn't tall enough
to reach the intersection, even with that added height. Neither were
Ned or Jes. Finally Ned got down, and Wona climbed onto his shoulders, her
heavy hide skirt falling around the back of his head. Jes helped him get to
his feet with that burden.
Now Wona could reach high enough to loop the cord around the three
intersecting arches, without otherwise touching any of them. She made one loop
and tied it; then Jes handed her more cord, and she made a second loop, and
then a third. She pulled them all snug. The three arches were bound together.
There was a dialogue Flo wished she could hear. Ned seemed to be telling
Wona to do something, and both Wona and Jes were demurring. That was unusual;
Jes and Wona seldom agreed on anything. But Ned finally convinced them.
Lin was watching too, and she had sharper ears. "He told Wona to hang from the
tusks!" the girl exclaimed. "But if she does that, she'll pull the whole works
down on their heads! She's not that light."
Indeed Wona wasn't. She was entirely too slender for a grown woman, but she
was adult, and weighed more than Lin or Bry. What was Ned thinking of?
What happened next astonished them both. Wona took hold of the bound

central axis of tusks and held on. Ned dropped down and got out from under,
leaving her hanging there. Then he pushed her, so that her body swung back and
forth. Her scream was audible across the whole bone yard. Her feet kicked and
her breasts stood out as she inhaled for another scream.
And the structure did not come tumbling down. It swayed just a bit, but held
firm. What made it so strong?
"She's yelling to him to get her down," Lin said, beginning to enjoy the show.
"Why doesn't she just let go?" Flo asked. "It's not that far a drop to the
ground."
"She wants Ned to get her down. She says he put her up there. Maybe it's a
test of wills."
A test of wills? Between Ned and Wona? But the two had nothing to do with each
other. They might as well have been in different bands. Flo couldn't
understand any kind of contest between them. The useless woman and the
brilliant stripling. They had no common ground.
Finally Ned came close, ducking his head as the woman swung toward him, her
body turning as she lifted her feet high to avoid kneeing him in the head.
Trying to dodge her, he dropped to the ground. Jes and Lin laughed together at

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the mishap, probably equally delighted by the man's fall and the woman's
predicament. Ned looked up, and Flo saw him gape as if dizzy, before he got
back to his feet. Flo knew what had happened; he had inadvertently seen right
up under the woman's skirt, when her legs were spread wide, a stunning view
for a young man. Then he called instructions, and she straightened out her
body, and Ned did what he had first intended: he caught Wona around her
swinging hips and held her so she could let go of the tusks. She grabbed his
head and slid down his front, pressing her bosom hard into his face as it
passed.
Lin laughed again. "He played a trick on her. But she got back at him!"
Flo did not laugh. She had a sudden dark suspicion. Wona, however useless she
might be generally, remained exactly the kind of narrow-waisted,
plush-bottomed, firm-breasted creature young men liked to get hold of -- and
Ned was a young man. He would naturally not have any notions about his elder
brother's wife, and of course he knew Wona's shrewish, idle nature. But young
men did not necessarily think with their heads; their interest followed the
direction of their penises, and those organs could readily be roused by the
proximity of almost any appealing female form. Legends were rife with lovely
nymphs whose only seeming purpose was to oblige the lust of whatever men were
nearby. Wona had just come to work with Ned, helping him accomplish his
purpose. She had enclosed his head with her thighs, and then shown him her
bottom and rubbed his face with her breasts. Of course she was clothed in her
hide vest and leggings, as all of them were; still, such contact would have
its effect. Was she making a play for him?
Flo pondered that as the others resumed work on the bone house. Why would Wona
do such a thing? She had never been keen on joining their band; her own band
had wanted to get rid of her, and only after she married Sam had it gradually
become clear why. Wona simply was no asset to any band, because of her
indifferent attitude. She did not pull her weight. But she was cunning enough
to know exactly whom she had to please, in order to get away with it.
She pleased Sam. But Sam, like Dirk, was away from the band much of the time,
because hunting big game was no sometime thing. They might have to track a
given herd for several days before finding a vulnerable animal, and then
pursue that animal for several days more. The meat and hide were invaluable
when they came, but the price of them was the absence of the hunters much of
the time. Flo could live with it, and it had seemed that Wona could -- but now
it looked as if the woman craved a bit of entertainment on the side. That was
extremely bad medicine.

So Flo hoped that her suspicion was wrong. Certainly she would say nothing
about it. Because if it was right, they would have one awful problem.
Better just to believe what the others evidently did, that Wona had for once
made herself useful when there was a difficult job to be done, and had
suffered a small mishap when testing the stability of the structure, and not
intentionally vamped anyone. That was definitely the best interpretation.
Lin took the new cord they had made and went to join the others. Flo stayed
with Bry and the children, and worked on more cord. The house was taking shape
now, and Ned's design was impressive. The huge tusks served as the framework,
and they were piling skulls and pelvises around the base, and weaving the long
leg bones between the tusks. It was like a giant basket turned over, with
bones instead of reeds. Individually the bones were nothing much, and in small
groups they fell apart, but when the design was large enough, they could be
woven into a durable structure. A basket of bones!
Finally Flo could remain apart no longer. She picked Bry up and carried him to
the new house, calling to the children to follow. She set him on the lee of
the structure, shielded somewhat from the continuing wind, and joined in the
weaving of bones. This was after all her specialty, though she had never
before thought to weave a house.
The work went well, with all of them participating, but there was no way to

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complete it by nightfall. Jes had to stop to prepare some of their packed
dried meat, and Ned had to make a fire by the house's entrance. Lin had to
take a hide bucket to the river they had spied in the distance, for water to
drink. That left Flo and Wona to tie the hides up inside the house.
Fortunately most of them were already linked together; they had simply folded
them in large segments after taking down the last shelter. So all they needed
to do was use the extra cord to loop around the tusk and bone supports, to
hold the mat of hides up. It was weird, having the hides inside the supports
instead of outside, but it worked in its fashion. The bones broke up the wind,
so that only eddy swirls got through, and the hides stopped most of those.
The fire started to warm the sheltered interior. The smoke blew off to the
side, so that little of it got inside. The house was working. Flo brought
Bry inside. At last he was out of the wind and in a halfway warm place. Now he
could mend -- if the spirits allowed it.
They snuggled down inside the bone house, and it was surprisingly comfortable.
"You did well, Ned," Flo told him.
"We had to have shelter," he replied, glancing at Bry. But he was pleased. He
was also thoughtful. She hoped he was considering the further prospects for
building in bone, and not for getting close to dangling women.
The next day they did more work on the house, chinking the remaining gaps with
smaller bones and anchoring the hides more tightly. They foraged for roots and
berries, and did well enough, considering.
And Bry, warmed in the shelter, improved. The signs were subtle, but Flo could
tell that he had turned onto a better path. He would recover. Her gladness was
tempered only by her awareness of the way Wona looked at Ned.
Actually, the "Venus" figurines could have been models not of the ideal
feminine state, but of the most exaggerated image of fertility. Thus those
aspects of a woman associated with reproduction were stressed -- breasts,
buttocks, thighs, belly, vulva -- and those who approached such proportions
may have achieved status. The fertility of the land is vital to the success of
a human community, and most cultures did their best to encourage it, whether
by practical, magical, or symbolic means. But the male taste in females could
have remained much as it is today: variable, but remarkably consistent
overall. An enormously pregnant woman is not a good sex goddess. So there may
have been a distinction between fertility and lust. Most of the Venuses date
from about 30,000 years ago for carved vulvas to 22,000 years ago for almost

full figures, when the glaciers were advancing. Later figures became more
normally endowed, as the climate ameliorated. There is one "Venus" that is
just the head of a young woman with an exquisitely sweet face and a hair net.
Some have string skirts, definitely an indication of sexuality.
The bone houses were crafted in Siberia and Europe, and later became
sophisticated, the bones symmetrically interlocked. But they were braced by
wood where it was feasible. The all-bone structure described here would have
been an emergency measure. The pictures of such dwellings are quite striking.
Chapter 8 -- ROCK ART
Today the Sahara is the world's most formidable desert, but it wasn't always
so. The region eased up enough to let Homo erectus out one to two million
years ago, and to let modern mankind out about 100,000 years ago. It dried up
again about 70,000 years ago in the east, but was halfway habitable in the
west 40,000 years ago. Possibly 12,000 years ago the climate ameliorated
again, and mankind followed the plants and animals in. Some of the earliest
paintings found anywhere in the world are in Africa, on exposed rock slabs.
But the Sahara region had to wait until it was habitable by mankind before it
received its share of art. Then, however, it may have seen a good deal more.
The setting is Tassili n'Ajjer, in present day Algeria, dead center of the
Sahara, 10,000 years ago.
NED STOOD FACING THE WALL, troubled. He had followed the path to this strange
place of the standing stones to paint a picture of an elephant, but he needed

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inspiration, and it wasn't coming.
They were getting pressed. They had had a large hunting and foraging area, but
other bands were moving in, and these bands were larger and stronger than
their own. It was necessary to give way, but that meant that they had a more
restricted region. Sam and Dirk were out hunting buffalo, but had to watch for
the lions, complicating it. Flo and Wona were out foraging for sorghum and
millet seeds, but these were less plentiful than before, because the group had
been over this section too recently. Lin was taking care of the children, and
Bry was helping her. Actually she was taking care of him, too, as he recovered
from his injury and illness, but for the sake of his blunted pride they did
not say that.
That left Ned and Jes. Ned did not like man's work, and Jes did not like
woman's work. Ned was slight of build and tended to think too much, while Jes
was as tall and lank as a man and dressed so that her breasts did not show. He
had once thought he would fill out as Sam had and be a man, and she had once
thought she would find the face of a woman, but both hopes had been
disappointed. So they were cursed in their opposite ways, and much alike in
person.
No formal statement had been made, but times were getting tough, and it was
clear that the band needed to find a better way to get through this difficult
time. Ned needed to join the hunts himself, or enable the others to hunt more
productively. Jes needed to forage or weave or care for children, or find a
way to get these things done more expediently. Or they both could go in search
of mates, being now of age. As far as that went, little Lin was just about of
age, and far prettier than any other in the band. Except for that hand.
So Ned was here to invoke the spirits' aid for more ambitious hunting.
The band had never been able to hunt elephants; they were simply too big and
strong. But if they could find a way, they would have as much meat and bone as
they ever needed. Tradition said that a suitable painting could capture the

spirit of any creature and make it subject to the will of the painter. So if
Ned could paint the elephant he had observed, and tie down its soul, they
would succeed, and the lean times would be over.
But he couldn't just sketch it on the wall. He had to paint its spirit too, or
the effort would be for nothing. So he was spending some time in the
mountains, wrestling with his thoughts, and Jes was serving as liaison between
him and the rest of the band. Because in the past Ned had figured out things
that had been significantly beneficial to the band, and enabled it to prosper
while other bands suffered. The elder members respected his mind, so they were
giving him the chance to use it again. If he could by some magic find a way to
help the band despite its problems, find the way to catch the animal's soul
from afar --
Magic. He had never really believed in it, but perhaps this time the spirits
of the band would commune with him. He stared at the blank wall, trying to see
through it, to fathom whether there was any spirit in it he could talk to.
After a time the wall of rock seemed to waver, and it was indeed as if it
became like clear water. He searched for the spirit in it, for every thing of
nature had its spirit, but didn't see it. Unless -- there was something
inside. A man, standing with a bow and one arrow. A hunter. Watching for his
opportunity. Were there game animals in range? Ned stared into the stone,
seeking some answer. Could that be his own spirit, ready for the hunt?
Suppose he painted his own image? Would that provide him with spiritual
strength for the hunt? So that instead of pinning the spirit of the animal so
that mortal folk could hunt it, he invoked the aid of his spiritual self,
enabling him to pursue the spirits of the animals out in the field? The notion
was amazing, but maybe true.
What special powers might his own spirit bequeath him? Could it show him the
path to good hunting? If it could enable him to hunt well, as he had not been
able to before, what else might it help him do? There was so much to

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comprehend that he knew he should not act hastily. He must first understand,
then paint, for greatest effect.
There was a sound behind him. That would be Jes, arriving along the path from
their camp. Rather than lose his insight into the stone, he remained as he
was. His sister would understand.
She came to stand beside him, facing the rock. He smelled a faint perfume of
crushed flowers. That was surprising, for Jes did not adorn herself with
anything feminine. "I'm looking into the rock," he explained.
"What do you see?"
Ned jumped. That wasn't Jes's voice! It was Wona's.
The spell of the stone was broken. He looked at the woman. "Why did you come
here?"
"Flo found a good haul of roots to bring back to cook. Jes has more muscle
than I do, so we switched jobs. She will take care of the roots, and I
will take care of you. I am better equipped for that."
"Take care of me?" he asked blankly. He had never really liked or trusted this
woman, who had been a drag on the band ever since she joined. Oh, he was quite
intrigued by occasional glimpses of her body he caught by accident; that was
the one thing she had in full measure. She was a truly lovely woman. Once he
had seen -- but that was nothing he should dwell on. She was after all his
brother's wife. The fact was that she was a liability to the band. She took
care of no one except herself.
"You have been a stripling. It is time you become a man."
"I don't understand."
"Precisely." She stepped into him, put her arms around him, drew him close,
and kissed him on the mouth.
Ned was stunned for a moment. Then he lurched back, pushing her away.

"We have no business like that!"
"Not before this," she said, turning his objection into an agreement.
She put her hands to her simple hide robe and pulled it open, showing her full
breasts.
Ned was mesmerized by them. Women often enough wore no more than skirts, but
Wona normally kept herself covered, especially in the sun. Thus her body had
not only the appeal of its kind, but that of novelty. She was older than he
was, but that simply meant that she was in the full flower of her sexual
appeal, while he was, as she put it, a stripling.
She let him look as long as he chose. Her gentle breathing made her breasts
rise and fall rhythmically, and they jiggled just enough to call attention to
themselves. Her eyes remained fixed on his face, and he didn't dare lift his
gaze to meet them.
Finally he forced himself to turn away. "I must return to my business,"
he said.
"And what business is that?" she inquired.
Suddenly it seemed foolish. "Looking at the rock. To -- to find its spirit."
"Of course. We need the help of the spirits."
He turned back to her, and was caught by the sight of her breasts again.
"You don't find it foolish?"
"Ned," she said seriously, "I find nothing about you foolish. You are the
smartest man I have encountered. You have helped your band many times by
figuring out better ways to survive. You will do it again. I have nothing but
admiration for you."
He flushed with pleasure, though he distrusted this. "I don't know what better
way I can figure out this time. Our territory is too small; other bands are
crowding us, and in time they will displace us entirely. I can't make there be
more animals to hunt or more wild grains to harvest. Even if I could, the
other bands would just move in and take them from us."
She removed her robe the rest of the way and stood naked. Her body was the
stuff of dreams. "Perhaps not. But if anyone can find a way, you are the one.

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I believe in you."
"I have found nothing," he said, rejecting something other than her profession
of belief. It was in his mind that she was teasing him, trying to make him
react, and make a fool of himself. She was probably bored, and this was her
entertainment. There had been times before when she had touched him or rubbed
against him, by accident he thought, but sending forbidden thrills of.
desire through him. Once when he had had to lift her down from an upper ledge
-- it had been days before he stopped thinking about that. She was his
brother's wife, he reminded himself again; he had no business thinking of her
at all.
"Then let me help you search." She stepped into him again, enclosing him with
her bare arms and body.
He froze. "Why are you teasing me?" he demanded. "Why don't you go away?"
Her reply was unconscionably direct. "I have had your brother's child.
Now I want yours."
"But you can't -- I can't -- "
"No one else will know. But your child will be smart, like you. Give me a
smart boy, Ned."
"But you are Sam's wife!"
"And I will remain so. No one will know. Give me your child."
"I will not!" But he didn't move. She was holding him, and he couldn't break
away. It was not a matter of physical strength.
"Shall we see about that?" she asked mischievously. She put her hands to his
clothing and began undoing it.

She was serious. He tried to back away from her, but found his back against
the rock face he had been staring into; he could retreat no farther.
She soon got him naked, and of course his eager member showed.
Still, he tried to protest. "I must not do this with you. I see your face; I
know you for my brother's wife."
"Then I will not show you my face," she said. She turned around and put her
back to him. Her posterior view was just as guiltily exciting as her anterior
view. "Hold my breasts."
"I can't -- "
"I think you can." She reached back and caught his dangling arms. She lifted
them up to enclose her, and set his hands on her two breasts. She used her
hands to press his hands in to her, so that they made the breasts flatten
against her chest. They had a special soft resilience that could be like no
other thing. Ned felt as if he were floating; this was unreal. But also
wonderful. And awful.
After a while she spoke again. "I think you are ready now. Hold my hips."
"What?"
She reached up and caught first one hand and then the other, setting them on
her soft hips. "Hold tight."
Of their own volition, his hands tightened on her evocative flesh. The breasts
had been phenomenal; so were the hips. All of her was wondrous. His guilt only
enhanced the appeal of the touching.
She bent forward, not falling, because his hands held her bottom in place. She
reached under and behind herself, and caught him where he had become
involuntarily hard, and guided him, and suddenly he was plunging into her hot
slick cleft, unable to restrain himself any longer. Part of him was horrified
that such a thing could happen with his brother's wife, but more of him was
carried along by the explosive joy of the depth of her. She was, indeed,
making him a man.
She held her position until he subsided, then straightened up and leaned her
back against him. "You see, you were able to do it, and most admirably.
And you did not see my face."
Then she was gone, how, he was not sure. He was so amazed by the whole
experience that he hadn't seen her go. Had it happened at all? But he was

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naked and spent, and he could not have imagined so much. And there was the
piece of bread she had left him, that Flo had sent for him to eat. She had
been here.
He ate the bread, and stared again at the wall, trying to see the spirit
picture in it. But all he saw was an image of Wona, slender, with soft breasts
and soft hips. Was that her spirit in the wall? Because she had come to him?
Or was it just an interference, preventing him from achieving the vision he
needed?
He left the wall and walked around the area, staring at the blue sky and the
brown rocks, trying to get his thoughts straight. He needed to clear Wona from
his mind before he could focus on the proper painting. Why had she come to
him? She said because she wanted his child, but she had shown little interest
in her daughter by Sam. Maybe it would be different if she had a boy.
Maybe she thought she could get a boy from him. A smart boy. That Sam would
think was his own. That made sense, perhaps, but Ned didn't much like the
notion. He wanted to have his own child with his own wife, when he found a
girl to marry. He didn't want mischief with his brother, and this was surely
that.
The answer was simple: he wouldn't touch Wona again. She had caught him by
surprise, and seduced him, but if she came again he would tell her no. He
would try to forget their sole encounter, and pretend it had never happened.
Satisfied, he returned to the wall. He stared into it. This time he saw

a herd of giraffes. Should he try to paint them? None had crossed the local
territory recently, but maybe they would come if he painted them.
The day was declining. He would wait until morning, and if he still saw the
giraffes, he would paint them. He still wasn't sure whether it was better to
paint the animal or himself, but maybe the spirits in the stone would guide
him.
He heard someone coming. Was Wona returning? He nerved himself to tell her no.
But it turned out to be Jes.
"It's a relief to see you," he said gladly.
"I had to switch jobs with Wona," she explained.
"She told me." Should he tell her any more?
Jes looked at him. "She's been at you," she said.
His sister could read him like a fresh trail! "What could I do?"
"Apart from telling her no?"
"I tried."
"She's just diverting herself, you know. She doesn't care about you or
Sam or this band."
"I know. I'll tell her no next time."
She dropped the subject. "Have you figured out the picture?" The blank rock
was evidence that he hadn't started it yet.
"I was starting to, when she came. I tried to see what spirits it contained. I
saw my own, I think."
"But your spirit is alive," she protested. "There would be only dead spirits
in the stone."
"I don't think so, because we couldn't hunt an animal that's already dead. I
must capture a live spirit, and pin it to the stone by the painting, so the
creature can't escape us. So there must be live spirits here."
She nodded. "I hadn't thought of that. But then you shouldn't have to look in
the stone for them; they must be outside it, until you pin one down."
He nodded in turn. "That does make sense. So when I saw my own spirit, it was
like a reflection in water. But later I saw a herd of giraffes."
"Maybe you should wait for an elephant."
"Yes. But suppose I let the giraffes go, and an elephant spirit never comes?"
Jes shrugged. "Maybe go for the giraffes, then, though I hate to seem them
taken. They're so graceful."
"They're tall and lanky, like you." He could tease her about her form, because

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they had always been close. She knew he loved her as she was.
"Yes. But they have nicer faces."
"Your face is fine," he told her insincerely.
"Fine for a man, you mean."
This time he changed the subject. "I wondered whether to paint my own spirit.
Do you think it would enable me to hunt well?"
"It might. Or it might pin you, so a lion could get you."
"That does it. I'll paint an animal."
"If Wona comes again, paint her spirit."
"But that would tie her forever to me," he protested, laughing.
"No, it would anchor her to this rock. Then we could move away, and leave her
here."
"Except Sam wouldn't leave her."
"Sam's a great man, but an idiot."
"About Wona, anyway," he agreed.
She gave him a direct look. "Don't you be an idiot too, Brother."
"You had better get back to camp, before it gets too dark," he said. But she
had broken his mood of doubt and despair, as well as giving him a good
warning. She was right. He trusted her judgment, especially in this respect,
because though she did not look it or act it, she was a woman, and she had

always stood by him.
After she left, he found another crust of bread by his paints. He wasn't
supposed to get two crusts in a day, but Jes must have given him hers. She was
like that. She was a great person; how sad it was that she didn't have a body
like Wona's. Unlike Wona, she deserved it. He knew that she really wanted to
be a woman to a man, and only pretended otherwise because no man was
interested.
He settled down on his bed of leaves in the shelter of an overhang. He had set
up sharpened stakes to block the access, just in case some large nocturnal
predator got a notion while he slept. He was remaining here by the wall until
he painted the picture; that was the way it was done. Others could visit him,
but he could not go back until he had a spirit pinned. It was a lonely
business, but necessary. The spirits of the animals had to come to associate
him with the countryside, rather than with the human band.
He slept, and dreamed of Wona, naked, backing into him, her buttocks soft yet
firm, her wondrous breasts under his hands. The hot wet inside of her. He
woke, quivering with desire. Oh, she had known what to do with him, how to
make him respond! Even the memory of it brought powerful lust. He knew he
should not have touched her, yet what an experience it had been.
He slept again, but the sensations returned. The woman was no good; he knew
that. But what a body she had. What joy she had brought him -- and what guilt.
In the morning he hiked to the nearby stream for water, and speared a fish. He
was allowed to have anything he hunted or foraged near the picture site, as
well as very limited supplies from the camp. It was the ritual. The longer he
took to paint the picture, the hungrier he was likely to get. The spirits
always came to those who got hungry enough. But he preferred to paint it soon,
if he could.
He stood before the face of stone and willed his gaze through it, as before.
At first his eyes would not cooperate, but then they did, and he stared beyond
the surface. Would he find the man, or the giraffes? In time shapes formed,
too small to be big prey animals, too low to be men. They were hyenas! Trust
them to come and interfere with his vision. They were capable hunters, but
often preferred to scavenge what others hunted, including what the band
killed. They seldom actually attacked men, but neither did they retreat far;
it was as if they were making up their minds about whether to fight. A
concentrated charge with spears would make them give way, but they always
returned. They were wary about arrows, and extremely hard to hit. They were a
real nuisance, especially when the children were close. If a child ever got

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separated from the adults of the band --
There was a sound behind him. Was it Jes?
"No, it is me," Wona said, understanding his thought.
"Go away," he said, not removing his gaze from the stone.
"In a bit," she agreed. "What do you see in there?"
"Hyenas. They always appear where they are not wanted."
She laughed. "Do you really think of me as such a creature?"
"Yes."
"And you will not look at me."
"You are my brother's wife. I want nothing to do with you." There: he had told
her.
"Your words are one thing. Does your body say the same?"
It did not. Her very presence raised a tide of lust. But he did not need to
yield to it. "Go away," he repeated. "I am trying to fathom the spirits in the
stone, so I can paint them."
"Surely you will succeed. I will leave you to it shortly. I am removing my
clothing."

Another illicit thrill went through him. He fought it. "How can you be sure
Sam will not see, here in the daylight?"
"I always know where he is. Now I am removing your clothing." Her hands
touched him, doing it.
He continued to stare into the stone, lest he give her the victory by being
made to look at her. But it didn't stop her. In a moment he was naked.
She had at least a half victory, because now his lust was revealed.
"Shall I face away, again?" she inquired. "You do not need to look at me. It
is not your eyes I need."
He did not answer. It did not stop her. He found himself staring into the wall
past her head, his hands on her breasts, his member between her legs.
"Hold my hips," she said.
"No." So she would fall over when she attempted to do it.
But she merely lifted herself to her toes without bending, and reached back to
guide him in, upward. She squeezed her buttocks against him, teasingly.
Suddenly he could stand it no more. He pulled her against him, his hands still
on her breasts, and plunged deeply into her. She had made him do it, again,
and it was just as intense and guilty as before. Even though his eyes were
still fixed on the stone surface.
Then she was gone again, as before, leaving him gloriously spent -- and
ashamed. Because he knew he had wanted her to do what she had done, wrong as
it was.
How was he going to stop this? It couldn't go on, yet he was vulnerable to her
approaches as long as he was alone by the stone.
He tried to focus on the spirit animals, but couldn't. He turned away from the
stone and walked to the river. He splashed the chill water on his face. He was
supposed to be an intelligent man; why couldn't he figure out a way to stop
this?
Because he didn't really want to stop it Wona had sought to have her will with
him, and she had succeeded. He might have fended her off the first time, but
once he had sampled her delights, he could not deny her again, however wrong
he knew it was.
What, then, was he to do? He didn't know. So he put it as far out of his mind
as he could, where it hovered like a hyena, and focused on his painting.
He did not eat or drink any more, he simply searched the rock, determined to
discover what was within it.
The heat of the day intensified. His vision blurred, and he felt oddly light
on his feet, but he kept on staring into the stone.
Finally it came: the image of a lion. "What is your business here?" he asked
it.
"I am keeping game animals away from this region," the lion replied. It did

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not seem odd that it spoke in a human voice; it had always been suspected that
animals could talk, if they wanted to.
"But we need those animals to hunt," Ned said.
"I don't care. I will keep them away until you starve. Then this territory
will be mine."
"Then I will stop you."
The lion laughed. "Stop me? You? How can you do that, you puny thing?"
"By shooting my arrows into you, and throwing my spears, and cutting your
bowels out with my knives."
"What makes you think I will stay still for that?"
"I will pin your spirit to this rock, so that you can't escape us. You may
run, but you will not be able to run far enough. You may fight, but there will
be one of you and several of us. We will destroy you. Then the game will
return here."
"How can you pin my spirit?" the lion asked contemptuously.

"With my paints. I will paint you here."
Then the lion grew nervous. "Spare me, and I will tell you how to get rid of
the woman."
That was tempting. But that would be benefiting himself by hurting the band,
and he wouldn't do that. "No." It was easier to say no to the lion than to the
woman.
"You really should reconsider," the lion said. "I have had experience dealing
with females. It is necessary to keep them always in their place. You are
failing to do that, and the consequence may be dire. Women are worse than
lionesses."
"Not all of them," Ned said, thinking of his sisters. Without removing his
gaze from the stone, he made his way to his paints. He had to paint the lion
without ever looking away, or it would escape him. If it got away, its spirit
would go to warn the physical lion, and it would be twice as cunning as
before, and ruin their hunting entirely.
"Are you sure of that?" the lion asked. "One is coming now."
Oh, no! Was Wona returning? She would ruin everything.
But it turned out to be Jes. "Oh, you are painting," she said, pleased.
"A lion," he replied. "I must not look away from him, or I will lose him."
"Of course. I'll help you. Here is your brush. What paint do you need?"
"First I need the charcoal, to sketch him in."
"Oh. Here it is." She brought him the chunk of charcoal.
He began drawing the lion, who had frozen in place when Jes arrived.
That was not surprising; normally visions could be seen by only one person at
a time.
"Did Wona come again?" Jes asked.
"Yes. I tried to deny her, but couldn't."
"I was afraid of that. She is good only for one thing, but she's very good at
that."
"Yes."
"Ned, you must tell the band. That's the only way to make her stop."
"But Sam -- "
"He won't like it, but with all of us telling him, he will have to accept it.
Maybe he will get rid of her, then."
Maybe it would work. But it would be an ugly scene. Ned sketched a while, each
stroke better defining the lion. Then he thought of an easier alternative. "I
will tell her I will tell Sam. Unless she stops now. She will stop, because
otherwise she will be routed from the band."
"Won't work," the lion muttered.
"But she'll still be here, then," Jes said.
"But there won't be any trouble," he argued. "She will behave herself, and Sam
won't be angry or hurt."
"All right," Jes said. "If that ends it. I'd rather see her gone, but you're

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right, it would hurt Sam awfully, and we don't want that."
"Fool," the lion said.
"The lion says I'm a fool," Ned said. "He says it won't work."
"The lion talks to you?"
"Yes. He offered to tell me how to get rid of her, if I let him go, but
I refused."
"Oh -- in your vision in the stone," she said. "I can't hear that."
"Maybe when you have your own vision, the animals will talk to you."
"Maybe. Do you need me any more? I had better return to the camp."
"Go. Once I have the sketch done, I'll have him pinned. I'll do the painting
right away, so that nothing can happen to the sketch and free him."
"Good. I'll tell the others you are painting a lion." She departed.
"You will regret this," the lion said. "You don't know a thing about

dealing with scheming females. You will just make it worse."
Ned ignored him and continued sketching. Soon he had the whole animal
outlined. Now at last he could look away. This was just as well, because his
eyes were hurting from the strain.
And there was Wona. "I would have come to you sooner," she said, "but
Jes was here. So I waited until she was gone."
"Then you can hear this now. If you don't stop coming to me right now, I
will tell Sam what you are doing. Then he will drive you from the band."
She met his gaze. "If you tell Sam, I will tell him that you raped me when I
brought you food, and threatened to kill me if I told. So I had to keep coming
to you, much against my will."
"But that's not true!"
"He will believe it."
"Why should he believe a lie?"
"Because he will want to," she said simply. "The same way you want to possess
me again, though it is the second time today."
Ned thought about his brother, and realized it was true. Sam loved Wona, and
accepted anything she told him. And he, Ned, did want her again, much as he
hated himself for it.
"I told you," the lion said smugly.
He faced the wall. "Tell me what to do, and I will free you."
"Too late," the lion said. "I would have made that deal before you sketched
me, but now you have injured my pride, and I will let you suffer."
"But you will suffer too! We'll kill you!"
"It will be worth it, to see the mischief that woman does to your stupid band.
I shall not speak again." And the lion shut its mouth firmly.
"If you are quite through talking to the wall," Wona said, "let's proceed with
our little tryst."
Ned was defeated. "As you wish," he said dully. Yet part of him -- the
masculine part -- was relieved that it had turned out this way.
"Come undress me," she said.
"But you have been doing that yourself."
"That was before we came to our new understanding. Now you will undress us,
and you will face me. In fact, we shall lie together, instead of doing it
awkwardly on our feet. I think that's more comfortable. Don't you?"
He didn't answer. She had indeed bested him in threats, and now she was in
charge. He approached her and started pulling off her clothing.
"Kiss me," she commanded.
He kissed her. The taste of her was forbiddingly sweet. Her real power over
him was the same as over Sam: he did desire her.
"Put your hands on my buttocks and squeeze." He did so, enjoying it, and
hating himself for that.
"And after this rock painting is done, and you return to the camp," she said,
"I will come to you on occasion, and you will stroke me and plunge me as
I indicate, and make no sound. For I mean to have great satisfaction of you,

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little brother, until I get your child, and perhaps thereafter." She took his
hand and led him to a suitable place for them to lie down together.
The lion had been right. He had only made it worse. And the worst of it was
that any time she tired of him, she could simply tell her husband of Ned's
"rape" of her, and the worst would happen.
Ned knew himself to be an intelligent and talented man. But he was no match
for this merciless woman.
The notion of running streams in the middle of the Sahara, and of lions,
giraffes, elephants, and all the rest, may seem strange indeed, but it was so.
There are many rock paintings to document it. North Africa was a nice place to
live, 10,000 years ago, though still somewhat dry; the running streams would

have been intermittent following rain.
As the region slowly dried, the human and animal population became more
pressed. Some creatures moved south, and some east, driven by the encroaching
desert. People compensated by making several significant changes in life-
style. Instead of merely hunting animals, they began to care for them: first
short-horned cattle, then sheep and goats. That guaranteed a supply of meat
and hides. Instead of merely foraging for wild grains, they began to grow
certain types. Thus hunting and foraging gave way, to a degree, to herding and
farming, as early in the Sahara region as in Asia. The same is true for
pottery; we can not say for sure where it started, or whether it was
independently devised. Its ultimate effect was potent; the language of the
eastern Sahara folk of that time is now known by its Semitic derivative
tongues, notably Hebrew, Aramaic, and Arabic. The folk of the Sahara had to
leave the desert; but they didn't leave the world, and the systems they
devised were to transform the rest of the world.
Chapter 9 -- SNOW
The stone age gave way to the ages of metals relatively rapidly in
Europe: one millennium there was stone, the next there was copper, and the
next there was bronze, to be followed ever more swiftly by iron and other
novelties. Social changes were as significant; collective communities that
granted little individual freedom gave way to a society where individual
rights were valued. Multiple religions merged into a single religion, unifying
the culture to a degree. Still, this was really the cultural and technological
backwoods, primitive compared to what was emerging in Egypt and Mesopotamia.
Yet here, perhaps, were the seeds of things that would in time bring the
region to prominence.
This was also the era of the domestication of some animals, the cultivation of
some plants, the making of pottery, and the weaving of cloth.
These are all skills and technologies that had considerable impact on mankind,
and that deserve separate explorations, but for now they must wait on a more
personal event.
The setting is the Alps north of Italy, about 5,300 years B.C.E. --
before the current era -- at the fringe of what is known archaeologically as
the Remedello culture. Later the Bell Beaker culture seems to have originated
in Iberia -- Spain -- and spread north and east, in due course overlapping the
corded pottery culture shown in the prior volume: the Indo-Europeans coming
west. In the end, the corded ware folk were to prevail, with their battle axes
and horses, but at this stage they had not yet arrived in this region. Instead
a series of lesser known cultures existed in central Europe. A traveler from
the fringe of the Mondsee culture might have crossed the Alps to reach the
Remedello culture, where the copper-working tradition was superior, and there
he could have interacted in a historically insignificant but personally
significant manner with the natives.
SAM TRUDGED THROUGH THE CUTTING wind of the high pass. The mountain range was
always a challenge, but he enjoyed it, because the exertion made him fit. His
heavy load of good cloth merely added to it, making his muscles strain and his
heart pound pleasantly.

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Each community had its own rules, and strangers were not necessarily treated
kindly. That made trading potentially dangerous. That was why it was
Sam who took the cloth out and brought back the goods, instead of one or two
of the women. Actually Jes had wanted to come with him, and she could carry
her load and defend herself, but the family had decided that she was needed at
home to help protect them from marauders during Sam's absence. There was only

so much Dirk could do, if several raiders attacked.
There were weapons available to the north, but a hostile tribe barred that
direction. So Sam was following the trail to the southeast, open because
hardly anyone cared to brave its rigors. He had been here once before, years
ago, so knew the general route. But not well. He would have been better off in
the company of a native of this region.
However, if this mission were successful, the women would have much less to
fear from roving men. For Sam was in quest of the great new equalizer, the
weapon that could make a woman as deadly as a man. The copper dagger. So sharp
that even the slight muscle of a woman could make it lethal. So small it could
be concealed on her body and forgotten until needed. With such knives, Flo and
Jes and Lin and Wona would be safe.
Sam did not like to admit it, but this high region was becoming less familiar
by the hour. He feared he had lost the way, and would not find the village he
sought. But there was nothing to do but plow on.
He crested the pass and gained speed as he descended. There was a settlement
of the folk who used the odd wide-mouthed clay pots. It was likely to be
somewhere in this vicinity; all he had to do was find it. It was a long trek
to reach it, but surely worthwhile this time.
Then he spied sheep. That meant there was a shepherd near. And if there was
one person who knew an area well, it was that area's shepherd. So Sam put his
hands to his mouth and called: "HALLOOOO!"
This spooked a few sheep, but Sam remained still and in plain view. He wanted
the shepherd to locate him, and to see that he meant no harm to the flock. So
he raised his hands in a gesture of harmlessness which was more symbolic than
real. Sam could take care of himself, and would fight if he had to. But he
hoped it wouldn't be necessary.
Soon a man appeared. He was of average size, but had a competent bow.
That would be the shepherd, and he could have put an arrow into Sam if he
wanted to. And perhaps would have, had Sam not made a point of desiring peace.
Because sometimes raiders stole sheep, and sheep were valuable.
"Who?" the man called, in the mountain dialect. Sam had picked it up during
his prior travels; he couldn't speak it well, but could understand it well
enough.
"Sam, of the northeast," he called back. "Coming in peace to trade cloth for
copper. But I have lost my way, and need guidance to recover the trail."
The shepherd came closer. His bow was slung across his back, but he could
reach it rapidly. Actually Sam could reach his weapon rapidly too, but he kept
his hands raised inoffensively. "You missed it by one peak. Go west and
recover it."
"I shall, with thanks," Sam said, and turned to face west. But the mountain
slope was plainly impassable in that direction. "Perhaps farther down."
"Easier to pass through my village," the shepherd said, smiling.
Sam returned the smile. "Does your village have copper for trade for cloth?"
Sam indicated the heavy burden of cloth bound to his back.
"Yes."
"Then it seems I am not lost after all. I will trade at your village. I
thank you again."
The shepherd pondered a moment, then made a significant offer. "I will return
there tomorrow. You may travel with me, if you care to help herd sheep."
"It is an honorable profession," Sam said. "I am no expert at it, but I
can profit well from instruction." He was saying that he would accept

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directions from the shepherd without taking offense.
"Then come share my fire this night, and we shall be on our way tomorrow."

"Gladly," Sam agreed. He had half hoped for something like this, but it was
not a thing that could be asked for.
"Follow me." The shepherd turned his back and walked slowly east. This was
another significant gesture: no one turned his back on an enemy. But Sam knew
that the man was well aware of Sam's position and movement; shepherds were
said to have eyes on their backs.
So Sam waited a moment, then stepped forward, matching the pace. In a moment
the shepherd increased it, and they made good progress.
Only now did the shepherd's dog appear, answering a signal from his master.
Sam knew that the dog would have been on him the moment he made a hostile move
toward the shepherd. The fact that he had neither seen the dog nor heard him
before indicated how well the animal was trained.
It turned out that there was a small cave under a ledge of the mountain.
No track led to it, and Sam would never have noticed it, had he passed by it
alone. That was no accident, he realized; it was a hiding place as well as a
shelter. The shepherd probably had a number of such refuges spread across his
region, so that wherever the sheep went, he had a safe retreat.
The dog did not enter the cave. He ranged away, watching the sheep. The
connections between man and dog were invisible to others, but Sam knew the
animal obeyed his master implicitly.
Inside was a small cache of supplies, including some dried meat, tinder, and
wood. The shepherd took his fire cup and soon blew up a small, almost
smokeless fire.
"This is unexpected luxury," Sam said, removing his burden and lying down. He
unstrapped the sheath for his stone dagger and set the weapon on top of the
bound cloth. He was thus disarming himself, signaling his lack of hostile
intent. Such continuing cues were important.
In due course the shepherd handed him a section of the heated meat. Sam bit
avidly into it. It was tough but good.
And this was the most important signal of all: no man fought with the one he
ate with.
Then they talked. "I am Otzi," the shepherd said.
"I am Sam," Sam repeated. But now the introduction was formal. Now they knew
each other.
Periodically they went out to check on the sheep, but the dog had things under
control. Sam knew that the animal would give notice the moment there was a
problem. The sheep were pretty well settled for the night, near a mountain
streamlet. Sam and Otzi drank there too, before returning to the cave.
As they settled for the night, they talked, for shepherding was a lonely
trade, and so was traveling. Sam told of his tribe, and the manner his family
group had formed when it had gotten isolated in a bad storm; times had been
rough at first, when his sister had been raped and had to leave her baby in
the forest because she could not support it.
But later she had married, and Sam had married, and they both had children
they could support, and things were better now.
"Marriage," Otzi said thoughtfully. "I had a good wife, but I lost her to the
fever. Now my daughter runs our house in the village, for I am gone for months
with the flock."
"What will you do when she marries?" Sam asked sociably.
Otzi shook his head. "I fear Snow will not marry. She's a good girl with a
fine healthy body, smart and competent and good-natured, but her face is not
pretty."
Sam was sympathetic. "You have described my sister Jes. She's as much of a
woman as any man could want, except that she is tall, lanky, and homely of
face, so no man wants her." He shrugged. "Beauty isn't everything."
"That's true. But it takes a man time to learn that. When I was young I

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sought beauty, but few wished to be alone while I was with the flock. Snow is

like her mother, and once I knew her mother, I did love her."
Sam pondered for some time before answering. He realized that he would
probably never see Otzi again, after he left this region, so it was probably
safe to divulge a confidence. "My wife is beautiful like none other. Yet if I
had it to do over, I think I would seek a lesser woman."
"You have a truly beautiful wife, and you crave less?"
"She is not as lovely in her nature as in her form," Sam explained.
Otzi laughed, not unkindly. "I have seen it elsewhere. We men are fools about
form and nature."
"We men are fools," Sam agreed ruefully. "Yet I can't tell her no on
anything."
"That's the way it is, with beauty," Otzi agreed.
In the morning they herded the sheep down the mountain. There were a few
ornery goats that gave the dog some trouble; Sam appreciated the magnitude of
the job the shepherd had. But Otzi knew the terrain as well as only a shepherd
could, and he knew the animals, and he maneuvered them efficiently in the
right direction. Sam helped mainly by going to certain wrong paths Otzi
directed him to, and waving his arms to dissuade the goats. When the goats
went the right way, the sheep followed. Since there were three directions they
could go -- right, left, and forward -- Sam wondered how Otzi and the dog
ordinarily managed. He realized that probably the village sent up another man
for this drive. Sam's presence enabled Otzi to handle the matter without
waiting for the arrival of help.
The herding was arduous, but they couldn't stop, because there was no water
for the sheep along the way. Otzi seemed indefatigable, and Sam held up, but
he felt the strain. He had the muscle to accomplish heavy lifting or fighting,
and the stamina to walk long distances, but this constant running from place
to place, with his heavy load of cloths, was wearing.
By evening the outlying fields of the village appeared, to Sam's relief.
The villagers came out to meet the flock. "You're early!" one cried.
"The sheep were ready, the weather was right, and I had help," Otzi explained,
gesturing toward Sam.
"Good enough! We'll start the slaughter tomorrow."
Otzi, relieved of his job, guided Sam to his house in the village.
The village itself was formidably situated. It covered a substantial knoll,
with a ring of sharpened stakes set around the base. There were piles of rocks
inside, that could be thrown, and a few boulders that could be rolled down the
steep slope if an enemy breached the palisades. Right now, however, there were
no guards; everyone was busy with the rigors of the harvest and preparations
for the slaughter. No guards? Sam frowned, disliking this carelessness, but
not wishing to criticize the host village. Probably there were lookouts alert
to spot any hostile intrusion long before it reached the village.
A woman came out to greet Otzi with a hug. She was much younger, close to
Sam's own age, with strikingly light-colored long tresses, in contrast to the
man's much shorter dark brown hair. She wore a necklace of amber beads.
That meant she was unmarried, probably his daughter Snow. She would cut her
hair shorter when she married, giving its fairness to her husband along with
the beads. She was well shaped, and would have been pretty except for a
somewhat coarse face.
Then Otzi introduced her to Sam, confirming the obvious. Snow smiled, but
there was no denying that she was far from pretty despite having a very nice
body. She really was not like Jes; she was better in the torso and worse in
the face. If only that lustrous hair could cover her face!
She was apt in other womanly arts, though. They ate very well, and Sam was
provided with a fine bed of straw to sleep on. Still, when he slept, he

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dreamed of Wona, the way she had been at first, avid for his embrace. The way
she was only in his dreams, recently. He wasn't sure why she had changed, but
suspected that she blamed him for giving her a girl baby.
Next day Otzi was busy helping with the threshing. Snow took Sam to the
central house and departed, for she had work of her own to do. There were
their wares, spread out on a table: bows, arrows, and what he wanted --
several fine copper-bladed daggers. He had seen these elsewhere, and desired
them, but had not had enough cloth to trade for them. Farther along was one of
the necklaces of fine amber beads, that any woman would like, even if they
weren't a signal of availability. But he was here for something more useful.
Sam unloaded his bundle and set his cloth down on the clear end of the table,
and stepped back, inviting them to inspect it. He knew the workmanship was
good; no one could excel Flo at weaving fancy material. She had worked for
many months on this, helped by the other women of the family.
A woman came up and checked the cloth with practiced eye and fingers.
She glanced at him and nodded, recognizing the quality of the handiwork.
"There is a problem," she said. After his night with Otzi and Snow, Sam was
adjusting to the dialect, and knew he could use it well enough to get by.
"This is good cloth," Sam protested. "My sister Flo wove it, and she's the
best -- "
"No, the cloth is good. It's that we can't trade now. Crockson handles it, and
he's busy with the harvest."
The harvest. Sam realized what that meant. Many villages had a policy of
postponing all business during harvest time, because all their hands were
needed. He should have realized that when he came down with the flock, he
would by definition be there for the harvest.
"When will Crockson trade?"
"On our festival day, after the harvest is secure."
That did not mean a day, it meant a week, because they had to get it done
during fair weather, lest all be spoiled. But he was stuck for it.
"The cloth is satisfactory?"
"Yes, of course. But I lack the authority -- I merely care for the goods,
while the able-bodied work." Sam noticed her hunch, realizing that she was not
able-bodied; otherwise she would be out in the field too.
Sam sighed inwardly. "Then I will have to wait upon that day. But may I
examine the wares now?"
"Certainly, if you wish."
The woman stepped back. He moved down to the daggers. He picked up the best
one and touched its keen edges to his finger. He hefted it, feeling the
balance. The handle was of wood, with the copper blade wedged into a split at
the end, and bound in place by fine cord. It came with a wooden sheath,
superior to the ordinary sheaths of woven grass, with leather thongs attached
to tie it in place. A very nice instrument.
He smiled and set it down before him. He picked up the second one. This, too,
was nicely made, slightly lighter but no less sharp. He set it beside the
first.
He reached for the third, but the woman grunted negatively. "Crockson will not
give three," she said.
Sam nodded. The woman might lack authority, but she knew what was what.
They would give him two for his cloth, but not three. He considered; perhaps
he could bargain. But he wasn't sure, because they were very nice daggers, and
surely worth the price.
"Suppose I stay here and help with the harvest?" he inquired.
The woman studied his heft and muscle. "Then I think Crockson would agree to
the third knife."
Sam nodded. The deal had in effect been made. "I shall see you again on the
festival day," he said, rebundling his cloth and heaving it to his

shoulder. She nodded in return.

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The following days were busy indeed, as the work of the harvest proceeded. Sam
stayed with Otzi and Snow, after making an informal oath of brotherhood to the
girl so that it would be acceptable for him to remain with them more than a
night. The more he knew of the father and daughter, the better he liked them.
Otzi was a competent, hardworking herder and hunter, and
Snow was the same in woman's work. It was too bad she was having such
difficulty finding a husband. On occasion she removed her clothing so as to
wash -- something that women thought necessary -- and though he studiously
ignored her at such times as a matter of brotherly protocol, he was aware of
her healthy body. She had breasts and thighs that could certainly put a man
into rapture, if she chose. And weirdly lovely hair. Did a face matter so
much?
At last the harvest and slaughter were done, except for a few loose ends. Some
of the goats had strayed, and now they had to be rounded up and brought in for
the slaughter. Sam went afield with Otzi and Snow, for it would take all three
of them to catch the frisky animals. But it would be a relatively easy day.
Tomorrow would be the festival.
"I'll be glad to make my trade and be on my way home," Sam said. "But it has
been nice enough with the two of you."
Snow laughed. She did that often, pleasantly. "You know that Crockson wanted
to have you stay this week, because of your strength for the heavy work?"
"I suspected," Sam said. "But it was good work, and I am promised an extra
knife."
"We shall see that that promise is honored," Otzi said.
"I am glad you stayed," Snow said. "You are a good man."
Sam, embarrassed by the compliment, did not reply. They continued to the
pasture where the goats had strayed.
They went after the goats, catching each one and tying it temporarily while
they went after the next. Snow was good at it, for a woman; she seemed to like
being out in the field for a change. She sweated as she got hot. Sam liked
that; Wona was careful never to exert herself enough to sweat. Not even when
having sex on a hot night. Not that she bothered, any more.
Sam spied another goat, and ran to head it off. He needed to get ahead of it
and turn it back toward the others. But it was a fleet one, and it surprised
him by running right down the path toward the village. By the time he caught
up with it, they were almost in sight of the houses. He trapped it in a narrow
spot, and managed to lay his hands on it so it couldn't get away.
It seemed a waste to haul it all the way back to the pasture; he could take it
the shorter distance in to the main village pen.
So he looped his rope around its neck and hauled it along. But as he
approached the village, he heard something. So did the goat; its ears perked
up, and it snorted.
The noise sounded like human screaming.
Sam's battle reflexes cut in. Maybe it was just a goat being slaughtered; they
could scream like children when hurt. But maybe it wasn't.
So he hauled the goat off the path, and approached the village under the cover
of rocks and brush. He had gotten to know the area in the past few days, and
hiding came naturally. The goat, nervous, was silent.
Soon Sam got a good look at the village mound. There was frenzied activity
there. For a moment Sam couldn't grasp it. Then he saw one of the village
children being carried to the edge by a strange man. The man threw the child
to the ground, drew his knife, and stabbed the child in the chest. The child
screamed once more, and died. The man turned and went after another child,
much in the manner Sam had been going after goats.

Sam was chilled. This was an enemy raid! The village had been taken unaware,
and the people were being slaughtered. There would be no mercy; only babies
under a year old would be taken, because they could be adopted into the enemy
tribe. All others would die.

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Sam knew he couldn't help the villagers. All he could do was warn Otzi and
Snow, so they could escape before being discovered. He loosed the rope from
the goat's neck and let it go; there was no point in keeping it, now.
Then he ran back up the path.
In time he heard something. He cocked his head, listening. It sounded like a
faint scream ahead.
The girl! Something was happening.
Sam broke into a run. He charged on around a bend and over a small crest. Now
he saw several figures in wild activity ahead. They were quarreling or
fighting, not aware of his approach. As he pounded on toward them, he
recognized the clothing of Otzi and his daughter. They were being beset by two
of the raiders, who must have ambushed them. One knocked Otzi down and stomped
his ribs. The other grabbed Snow and ripped at her clothing, hitting her in
the face as she resisted. He was raping her!
Sam was running swiftly, but it seemed painfully slow because of the distance
to cover. He could only see, not stop what the raiders were doing.
But his rage was burgeoning, because once he had seen his sister Flo raped,
and had not been able to stop it or even protest. Today he had a score to
settle with all rapists.
Then at last he was there. He lifted his staff and knocked one man on the
head, sending him spinning to the ground. Then, panting, he whirled on the
other, who was pinning the girl to the ground. He grabbed the man's hair with
one hand, and one leg with the other hand, and heaved him bodily up into the
air. Such was the strength of his fury, he whirled around in a full circle,
then threw the man into a tree. The man struck the trunk and dropped to the
ground without a scream, just two thuds.
Sam turned back to the first raider -- but he was already up and running away
as fast as he could manage. Sam doubted he could catch him. So he went to
Otzi, who was woozily sitting up. The man tried to lift his arms defensively,
not recognizing Sam.
"Easy!" Sam said. "It's Sam. I routed the two raiders."
Otzi looked round, seeing that it was true. "Ambush," he said. "I tried to
fight them -- "
"They had clubs and surprise," Sam said. "I saw from a distance, but couldn't
get here fast enough."
Snow groaned, and they both looked at her. Her skirt was half pulled off, and
her face was a mass of blood. Blood was in her eyes, blinding her.
Sam went to her, pulling out the cloth he used to clean his own injuries, at
such time as he had any. Wary of her reaction, he spoke before he touched her.
"Sam. I am Sam. You know me. The raiders are gone. I will help you."
"Sam," she repeated, recognizing the name and voice.
"I will wipe your eyes," he said. He poured some water into his cloth, and
used the wet material to clean out one eye and then the other, carefully.
"You are so gentle," she said as she opened her eyes.
Otzi snorted. He had gotten to his feet, and was looking at the raider by the
tree. Gentle? The man had been pulped.
Sam cleaned off the rest of her face, then wrung out the cloth and gave it to
her to stanch the continuing flow from her nose. "Hold it tight," he said. "I
know it hurts, but you must not lose more blood. I think that's your only
injury, except -- " Then he caught himself.
She caught the implication anyway. Her free hand came up and ripped the amber
necklace off. She threw it away. "Except I am no longer a maiden," she

said bitterly. "No one will marry me now."
"No, that's not -- " Sam started, but had to break off again. Because it was
true: most men wanted to marry maidens. The raider had deprived her of her
most precious attribute. The only thing that might have made up for her homely
face -- which now was worse.
She began to cry. Sam, feeling somewhat helpless, lifted her to a sitting

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posture and put his arms around her somewhat in the manner of a father, trying
to comfort her. "That brigand is dead," Otzi said.
Sam realized that this, too, was probably true. "I was angry," he said a bit
ruefully. "My sister -- she was -- I was then too young to stop it. I have
been ashamed ever since."
Otzi nodded. "Justice has been done. Take his things."
Sam shook his head. "No. I want nothing of his. You can have them."
"I want nothing of his either," the man said grimly. He studied the body.
"He's of the Green Feather tribe. Those folk are nothing but mischief."
"Yes," Sam agreed. "We know of them too. They plunder and -- " Yet again he
caught himself. What they did was rape any women they caught alone or
inadequately protected, exactly as in this case.
"We can leave him here as he is, to rot without burial," Otzi said.
"That is fitting."
"That is fitting," Sam agreed. Then, belatedly, he remembered the main threat.
"The village -- the raiders have taken it. They are killing all the people. We
must flee."
"The raiders!" Snow cried. "The village!"
"Too many to fight," Sam said. "I saw them when the goat led me there.
The one who ran just now will tell them of our presence. We must get well away
from here, immediately. I was coming to warn you -- "
"Then all is lost," Otzi said grimly. "They waited until the harvest to
strike, so as to glean the richest spoils."
"Yes," Sam agreed. He did not comment on the village's laxness about defense.
"We must go."
Otzi looked at his daughter, whose nose was no longer bleeding badly. It
would, unfortunately, never be normal again. Her appearance had not been great
before; now it was ruined. "We must go," he agreed.
"Yes," she said, understanding the situation all too well. Sam released her,
and she started to get up -- and stopped. "Oh!" She fell back flat on the
ground.
"What is it?" Otzi asked, concerned.
"The pain," she gasped. "I can't stand."
Otzi winced. Sam knew why; things were already very bad for them, and would be
worse if she could not walk.
"We must find the injury," Otzi said, his voice carefully controlled.
Sam knew that the man did not want to further alarm his daughter, who already
had more than enough misery. But they had to move out. "Where is the pain?"
She considered. "My back. My legs. I don't know."
Sam turned his back. "You must check," he told Otzi.
"Yes." There was the sound of clothing being moved. "I see nothing."
"I don't feel it now," she said. "Maybe I can get up after all." But then she
cried out with pain. "Oh! I can't!"
"But there is nothing," Otzi said.
"There is pain," she retorted.
"Sam, you have the look of a warrior about you," Otzi said, carefully not
implying that Sam had any affinity with the raiders. "Do you know of internal
injuries?"
"Some," Sam admitted. "But only on men." He did not turn around. Instead he
went to pick up the remnant of the amber necklace; it wouldn't be good to
leave it here for the raiders. He knew Snow wouldn't take it back, so he

tucked it in a pouch.
"Let him look," Snow said. "There must be something. I have no modesty left."
Even in her distress, she was politely pretending that Sam had never seen her
body. He was her ad hoc brother, having only familial interest in her. On
occasion, at need, a brother would view a sister's body, but never speak of
it.
But she was unfortunately correct again: the protocols had been savaged, and

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had become pointless. She had to get moving soon, or the raiders would catch
them and kill them all. Sam turned to look at her. She was lying on her
stomach now, stretched out.
He kneeled beside her. "I must put my hands on you," he said cautiously.
"I mean no harm."
"Yes. Touch me."
He felt her upper legs, which were firm and well fleshed. There was nothing
wrong with them. He struggled to maintain a brotherly perspective, but it was
impossible. He felt her back and hips through the clothing. They were in good
order too. She was a supremely shapely figure of a young woman, and his body
responded regardless of his mind. "I find no injury."
"I'll turn over," she said. She started to -- then stopped, with another
exclamation of pain.
"In the belly, maybe," Otzi said. He looked nervously down the path toward the
village.
Sam put his hands carefully on her and turned her over. She winced but did not
cry out again. He felt her abdomen, but it seemed firm, and she expressed no
pain. "Unless there is an injury that does not show -- "
"Find it!" she said. "Take off my skirt. Find it." Her voice was rising with
incipient hysteria.
Sam looked helplessly at Otzi, but the man only shrugged, glancing again
toward the village. So Sam carefully worked her skirt off, laying bare her
upper thighs and belly. Her genital region was in order, not betraying its
recent violation. There was no apparent injury. He turned her over. Her bottom
was well formed and uninjured. "Maybe when the raider -- inside -- " he
suggested hesitantly.
"No. That hurts, but not the same way. This is farther back. And down my right
leg."
He felt down her back. "Tell me when you feel the pain." He put gentle
pressure on her back and hips, but got no reaction. He pressed her firm
buttocks, and all around her right thigh, with no result other than his own
quickening, guilty interest. Wona would not let him touch her this way.
Actually, Wona seldom let him touch her at all, recently. That kept coming
back to him.
"It doesn't hurt while I'm still," she said. "And your touch is very gentle."
"I have sisters," he said, embarrassed. "They are not tough like men.
They are -- soft." Like her. But he had never touched a sister this way. "I
find no injury. Your body is -- perfect." He felt an embarrassing flush
forming.
"We don't have time to delay. We must find out what this is," she said.
"I will try again to get up. You watch, and see if you can see where the pain
is."
She tried to turn over, but felt the pain immediately. "It hurts when you move
yourself!" Otzi said. He was collecting his scattered equipment. He didn't
have his bow, because he had not expected to hunt, but he did have his knife
and axe. "Not when someone else moves you."
"Yes," she agreed. "I realize that now. It hurts only with my own motion."
"Ah, then," Sam said. "I have had that. Once when I fell and banged my

back. A bruise -- something inside makes it hurt. It is bad for a few days,
then it passes, and is as if it never was. When you were thrown on the ground
-- "
"Yes," she said. "That must be it. I felt no shock at the time, but I
landed hard. So it won't last." She was visibly relieved.
Sam helped her turn back onto her back and put her skirt back on, concealing
his masculine reaction to the sight of her inner thighs and buttocks as he
lifted her legs for her. In everything but the face she was a most compelling
woman. That, too, kept coming back to him.
"You can't walk?" Otzi asked, his hope fading.

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"Oh, Father, I would if I could," she said. "But the pain is so bad --
it just shoots through me the moment I try."
"The raiders -- " he said. "I hear them coming. We must go."
"You must go now," she agreed. "Leave me here." She glanced significantly down
the path. "But lend me your knife first." She meant to kill herself before the
raiders reached her.
"I can't do that!"
"I -- maybe I can help," Sam said. "I think I could carry her to that cave we
shared. It's not far. Then she could rest until she can walk, while we forage
for her."
"But you have your own journey to make," Otzi protested. "And the weather is
threatening. You have been delayed too long already. You don't want to get
caught here."
"I have nothing to take back," Sam said. "My cloths, and the knives I
was to trade for, are in the village. I have no supplies for the journey." He
bent to take hold of Snow.
Otzi nodded. "There are supplies in the cave. Take them, and welcome."
Sam stood, holding the girl in his arms. "But you will need them yourself!"
"No. I have other business." He stepped out along the path, going toward the
village.
"Father!" Snow protested.
"The raiders are almost here," Otzi said. "You can't escape them, carrying
her. I will decoy them. Carry her to the cave, and I will see that they never
find you."
"Father!" Snow cried again, despairingly. "You are injured!"
"So I can't fight them," Otzi agreed. "Not without my bow. I'll make a new
one. Until then, I'll lead them astray. They won't catch me; I know the
terrain as they don't."
Sam nodded. "Come find us when it is safe."
"I shall. Now go!"
Without further word, or protest from Snow, Sam started walking up the slope
toward the region of the cave.
He heard Otzi hoot. It wasn't for them; it was for the raiders, whose heavy
tread Sam could now hear. There was the sound of running. They had spied
Otzi, who had of course shown himself to them. The decoy was being pursued.
"He's walking slow," Snow murmured. "He was hurt too. Worse than he wants to
show."
"But he can avoid them," Sam said, hoping it was so.
"Yes. It will just be more difficult."
Sam carried her at as swift a pace as he could manage without making undue
noise. The girl was light in his arms at first, but became heavier as time
passed. He could walk at only half the speed he had when unencumbered.
When the stress on his arms started to become painful, he knew that caution
was better than valor. "I am tiring. I must set you down for a time, to rest."
"Yes, of course. You are amazingly strong."
Sam found himself blushing. He squatted, and set her carefully on the

ground. He was able to put her against the trunk of a tree so that she could
sit up comfortably. Then he turned away, stretching and flexing his arms,
getting them limber again. There was no sound from the direction of the
village; Otzi must be causing the raiders to save their breath for the
pursuit.
"I must clean your cloth and return it to you," Snow said. "My nose has
stopped."
"At the cave," he said.
She smiled, fleetingly. The effort was pitiful, considering her ruined face,
but he appreciated it. She was still hurting, physically and mentally, he
knew, but she didn't complain at all.
That was all. When his muscles had recovered, Sam picked her up again and

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carried her onward. At her suggestion, he detoured enough to splash through a
mountain stream. They both drank deeply of its chill water, then he splashed
some distance up it, so that the raiders' dogs would lose any scent.
"The dogs," he said. "If they send them after your father -- "
"He will club them off the mountain," she said confidently. "He can handle
wolves with just his staff; dogs are easier. After they lose a few dogs,
they'll stop."
The cave turned out to be farther than he had thought. Snow did not weigh a
great deal more than his load of cloths had, but she wasn't balanced on his
back, and so distances seemed to be twice what they had been. It was evening
by the time they reached it, and he needed Snow's help to find it, because it
was more cunningly hidden than he remembered. That was good, because the
raiders had little chance of locating it.
Sam did not dare start a fire, for the smoke would give them away. But the
cave was protected from the wind, and he gathered leaves and straw to make a
comfortable bed for Snow. He helped her wipe her face again; her nose was
swollen and sore, but that was part of the healing process. Then he had to
carry her out so she could urinate -- another bemusing experience for him,
because she needed to be held upright so she would not soil herself. She was
surely embarrassed by the procedure, but did not show it. His respect for her
nature grew.
Then, as they chewed on the dried meat stored in the cave, they talked in a
way they had not in the village. Sam told her of his family, with one sister
his age, one Snow's age, and one younger.
"And what of your wife?" she inquired alertly.
"She is a beautiful woman."
"Doesn't it bother her to have you away so long?"
"No."
She wisely changed the subject. In due course she slept. He made sure she was
well covered, then curled up beside her to sleep himself. It had been a most
wearing day.
On the following day Snow began to walk, gritting her teeth against the
shooting pains, because now she knew there was no actual injury there. Sam
held her up so she could not fall, his hands on her waist so she could use her
hands to hold a staff to help brace her. That worked reasonably well, though
her jerkiness as the pain took her caused her body to shift under his hands
embarrassingly. "I'm glad you're my brother," she murmured.
When she rested, he traveled to the stream to fetch water for her, and to look
for any traces of the enemy. There were none; Otzi was evidently doing an
excellent job of leading them astray.
In three days the pains were fading, and Snow declared herself ready to
travel. She still winced as she walked, but it was clear that she could handle
it. However, they had nowhere to go, because they did not dare approach the
village until they were sure the raiders were gone, and they didn't know where

Otzi was. So they waited, eating the last of the meat, and foraging for
tubers.
On the fourth evening Snow broached an awkward subject. "You have been kind to
me, Sam, and I would repay you in some way, now that the pain is fading." She
lifted the hem of her skirt. "I can cover my face so that my ugliness does not
disgust you, and -- "
"I'm married," Sam reminded her quickly.
"Yes, of course. But there would be no need to tell your wife."
"I made you an oath of brotherhood."
"And you have more than honored it. I release you from it. It is not as if I
have any virtue to preserve."
"For you, it can be so," Sam said cautiously. "Only your father and I
know what happened, and neither of us would tell. No one need know -- "
"I know."

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That ended that aspect. She was firm on that subject. Her bitter honesty might
cost her a marriage, but she would not cheat. "Yet I also know I am married,"
Sam said.
She nodded. "I thought you would say that. You are true to your wife, though I
think she is not true to you. It makes you a good man."
Sam stared at her. "She -- how could you know such a thing?"
She made a bitter laugh. "I know the nature of lovely women, having so longed
to be one. She finds you dull. She is a fool."
Sam did not know what to say. He suspected she was right. But what could he
do?
After a time he responded to another aspect. "You are not an ugly woman.
Wona is."
She laughed. "Thank you, Sam. I understand what you mean."
That made Sam think of something. "I have two daggers. Not as nice as the ones
I was to trade for, but good enough. You must take one, until your father
comes here. So that if we should be surprised -- "
"What have I left to defend?"
This provoked him into a statement he hadn't intended to make. "Your life! You
are still a nice young woman, with a very nice body."
"Oh, now you are interested in my body?"
"I was always interested in -- " He caught himself. "No! I'm married.
But if I weren't -- "
She was immediately contrite. "I'm sorry. I am bitter, but I know it's no
fault of yours. With my face, all I had to offer a husband was my maidenhood,
and now -- "
"No!" But of course she was right. So he amplified his thought. "My sister was
raped, and I could not help her, any more than I could help you. I
could not even avenge her against the man. It has been my shame. But her life
continues."
"Your sister? You didn't say. Which one?"
"Flo. The eldest. She had a baby, and had to leave it in the forest. I
think that hurt her more than the rape did. If I had only been grown, then, as
I am now -- "
"You would have thrown that man hard against a tree."
"Yes. After that, I might have treated him unkindly."
She had to smile. "At least you did that for me, and I thank you. He just rose
up off me and flew through the air! But your sister -- what of her, after
that?"
"She married when I did. A man who had been injured, so could hardly walk. But
when he recovered, he was a good hunter, and a good man. They made her take
him, so that I could have Wona. She had a better bargain than I did."
He hadn't meant to say that, but it came out.
"So Flo is happy now, and you are not?"

"Yes." Then he paused, surprised to hear himself say it.
So he had to try to explain it. "I was cursed to love an ugly woman. So
I tried to break the curse by marrying a beautiful one. But it's only her body
that's beautiful; her spirit is ugly. So I did not escape the curse."
"Didn't you say you had a daughter?"
"Yes. Wilda is three. But Wona has no interest in her. She wanted a son.
So Flo takes care of Wilda and Flint, and Wilda thinks of Flo as her mother.
So Flo has a full life, despite what happened to her. You should be able to
have one too."
"I wonder."
"I have your amber necklace. Will you wear it again?" He reached over his
shoulder, into his pack, and pulled it out. "It can be repaired."
Snow began to cry, as they sat in the cave. But finally she took the necklace,
tied its broken ends together, and put it on over her head. Then she settled
down for sleep.

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Sam was greatly relieved. Snow had accepted the notion that her life, like the
necklace, might not be beyond repair.
The next day it snowed. They remained inside the cave, huddling together for
warmth. Sam found himself wishing that he had not turned down her offer of
sex, yet knew that it remained open, and said nothing. The meat was running
out, and so had the tubers, so it seemed best to save their energy, he told
himself.
The snow made their tracks visible, and that was dangerous. But it also made
animal tracks visible, and that helped. Sam tracked a rabbit and caught it
with a stone, and they had food again. This time they risked a small fire,
trusting that the smoke would not be visible in the night.
"My father should come soon," Snow said.
"He is making sure he doesn't lead the raiders to you."
"Yes. But they won't stay in our village forever. After they finish feasting
and raping and killing all the women and girls, they'll pack up and go home.
Then my father will come."
"Yes." They didn't speak directly of the utter disaster that had wiped out the
village. They kept the focus narrow, as if this were merely an inconvenience.
It was the only way to stop the tragedy from overwhelming them.
The snowfall didn't last; it was too early yet. But was a warning of the
coming winter. The cave would not do for that; they would need to find a
regular house for Snow, and Sam would have to travel back across the mountains
to home before the pass became impassable.
When half a moon had passed, they got bolder. They explored more widely,
looking for signs of human presence. There was a column of smoke in the
direction of the village, which meant the raiders weren't yet gone. No raiders
seemed to be out ranging the land, however. "They must be getting careless,"
Snow remarked. "They are sleeping off their indulgences, resting for the
journey."
"Yes. But we dare not approach too closely."
"Yes."
"Soon they will be gone, and my father will return. He is staying clear to be
sure the raiders have no notion where we are."
"Yes." But that rationale was wearing thin.
Otzi staggered through the pass as night came. He was dead tired, but he
hadn't dared rest. He had seen two more raiders with dogs, and he knew that if
the animals got any whiff of him in his present state, it would be the end. He
would have gone to the cave long ago, if it hadn't been for those dogs,
because the animals could follow his trail to it even days later. So he
protected his daughter by staying well away from her. Soon the raiders would
be gone, and then he could check on Snow and Sam. Until then, he had to keep

moving through the most difficult reaches of the peak pastures.
He moved out of the pass to a high gully that would shelter him from the
cutting wind. It was getting cold again, and he was inadequately dressed for
it. But he had handled bad times before. One, two, perhaps three more nights
up here; then it would be safe to check on the village, and if that was clear,
he could go to the cave to fetch the others.
He leaned his bow against the face of a rock abutment and sat down on the
ground. The bow was unfinished; he had been working on it the past ten days
while he avoided the Green Feather raiders. If only he had had his regular bow
with him when the raiders struck! Then Snow would never have been raped; the
two raiders would have fallen before they completed their ambush.
He had been stupid ever to let his guard down, even when working around the
village, and it had cost him and his daughter horribly. The only saving grace
was the visitor Sam. Sam was a decent man who would take care of Snow, even if
he wasn't looking for a wife.
He brought out his last scrap of dried meat and slowly chewed it. He had
stretched it out as long as possible, but now he had to eat or starve.

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Tomorrow he would see about netting a bird; that would be better. Tomorrow
maybe the raiders would be gone. Tomorrow maybe he would see his daughter
again. Tomorrow would be better.
He finished the meat and tossed aside the remnant of gristle. It was dark;
time to sleep. He arranged his cloak and lay down on the side that didn't
hurt. The air was fiercely chill, but he could handle it. He was so fatigued
that he sank immediately into a halfway pleasant daze, and then into sleep. He
didn't even notice that his ear was folded over against the ground.
Tomorrow...
There was another snowfall, heavier than before. Sam knew it would be heaviest
on the peaks. If Otzi was still up there, he would have a difficult time.
But after several more days, the smoke died out, and they ventured to the
village. It was in ashes; the raiders had burned down every house before
departing.
Snow stared. Sam knew she had insulated herself from this reality, but now she
had to accept it. There was nothing to return to.
"Father," she said plaintively. "He should be here. He would have seen the
smoke."
Sam wanted to argue, but couldn't. She was obviously right. Otzi must have
been caught by the storm. That meant he was dead.
"Oh, my father!" Snow cried. "I thought I had lost everything, but it was
nothing! I should never have let him go alone."
"We could go back to the pass and look for him," Sam suggested weakly.
"He was going to stay in the peaks until -- "
"There is nothing there I want to find. I don't want to see my father dead."
She looked at him, her eyes abruptly blazing. "Cut my hair!"
The sign of mourning. For marriage it was stylishly cut, but for mourning it
was hacked off. She had not mourned for the folk of the village, insulating
herself from what had happened there, but the loss of her father was too real.
Sam understood, but was loath to oblige. "Maybe he crossed the mountains,
leading the raiders far afield -- he will return later -- "
"Cut my hair."
So, reluctantly, he brought out his dagger he had forgotten to give her to
carry, and used it to cut off her beautiful snow-blond tresses. She became a
wretched creature of grief, with no remaining asset above the neck.
She took the silken hanks of hair and hung them up on the edge of a stone
outcropping. Then she screamed out her misery, beating her little hands
against the rock until they were bruised and bleeding. She scooped up dirt and

ashes and rubbed them across her face and remaining hair. Sam turned away,
unable to watch or interfere. He listened as her grief wore itself out, or at
least her voice did, sinking at last to faint sobbing.
As darkness closed, she recovered awareness of their situation and joined him,
a miserable creature in appearance and attitude. Her copious tears had turned
some of the dirt on her face to mud. "What am I to do?" she asked plaintively.
Sam had been thinking about that. It was obvious that she could not remain
here. Snow was in no condition, physically or emotionally, to even make the
attempt to survive alone.
"I will take you home with me," he said. "You can do well with my family. My
sisters will accept you."
"But you are married."
"But my brother Ned isn't. He is very intelligent, and he doesn't judge people
by appearances. I think you would like him, and he would like you."
"But I have no value."
"He wouldn't care about that. I don't; none of us do. Because of Flo. We know
it is character that defines a person, and you are a nice and competent
woman."
"Then I will go with you," she said, as if it were a simple decision.
Perhaps it was, considering the low esteem in which she now held herself. "In

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the morning."
They foraged amidst the ashes for scant materials, and found some stones and
bits of half-burned wood to fashion a temporary shelter of sorts. They lay
down together, as brother and sister.
As he drifted to sleep, he felt her sobbing quietly again. The first fury of
her grief was ebbing, but it was far from spent. There was nothing he could do
about it. Her grief was real, and had to be expressed.
Tomorrow they would set off for his home. Sam hoped Ned would like Snow.
Yet that thought was tempered by the realization that Sam liked her himself.
It was true that her face was not beautiful, and her smashed nose and shorn
hair hardly improved it. But she was a brave, honest, and feeling girl who
would never treat a man the way Wona did. In fact, Snow was an ugly woman Sam
realized he could love. If only he weren't married. But he was married, and
there his speculation ended.
What happened to Otzi? As it happens, we know that with considerably more
authority than we know about his life or family. He was injured in the
rib-cage, and deadly tired, and so hungry that his body was metabolizing its
own substance, and the climb to the pass was wearying. As evening came, he
decided to rest, hoping to restore himself before going on. He lay down on the
ground and sank into a deep sleep. Too deep; he was chilled, and his state
became more like a coma. He was in the lethargy of hypothermia. And so he just
kept sinking, as the night came on and chilled his body further. The snowstorm
came and buried him, and he never roused. He was frozen where he lay.
The snow did not melt with spring. It became part of a glacier. It tried to
carry his body down the slope, but he got hung up in a gully and remained.
For five thousand years. Until the year 1991, when the snow finally melted in
that region, and his body was exposed. This discovery made quite an impression
on the modern world. He is now known as the Ice Man.
Chapter 10 -- TRIERES
Circa 430 B.C.E. Greece was one of the centers of advancing civilization. The
polis or city-state was the essential political, economic, and social unit.
Most were not large, by later standards; populations of 5,000

to 50,000 might have been typical. Athens, with 250,000, was a giant, and thus
one of the dominant cities of the region. Its main rival was Sparta, about a
hundred miles distant by air, but considerably farther by foot. Most cities
were oligarchies, with about 10 percent of their populations having power;
Sparta was a monarchy. Athens was unusual, in that it was a democracy -- that
is, run by male citizens, not women, slaves, or foreigners (there are, after
all, limits); each year 500 citizens over age thirty were chosen by lot to
govern it. However, the principal power was wielded by a board of ten generals
who were elected for one-year terms. Popular generals could be re-elected, so
some became quite powerful. An example was the statesman Perikles, who was in
power at this time, having been in office for twenty-eight years. He was a
clear thinker and a great orator, able to use both reason and emotion to guide
his followers. He was one of the factors in the greatness of the city.
But this was now threatened. Athens and Sparta went to war in 431 B.C., and
because of their networks of alliances, this meant that most of Greece was
involved. Athens was matchless on the sea, while Sparta dominated on land.
Sparta marched her army into Attica, which was the home territory of Athens,
and ravaged the countryside. The Athenians, outnumbered two to one, had to
retreat. The population of Attica poured into Athens, hiding safely within its
walls while the Spartan forces ranged outside. But Athens was not in much
trouble, because her fleet of ships kept her supplied from elsewhere. Her
fleet also launched naval raids against Sparta and her allies. Thus Athens
more than held her own despite being under siege, and Sparta had to withdraw.
It was a standoff. But the war was far from over; it was merely in remission
for a few months. These were surely not great months for the residents who
returned to their devastated farms and dwellings.

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One family lived on the large long island of Euboea, to the east of the
Greek mainland. They were in the hinterlands, and had not had to flee to the
city walls, but they, too, had surely felt the ravages of the war. The island
had been strategically significant during the Persian wars, being a staging
area for the Greek defense, and was widely regarded as Athens's most important
possession. It was a vital region for grain, being better than Attica for
farming. When the war broke out, the people of Attica sent their cattle and
sheep to Euboea for safety. Yet the association was not entirely easy; there
had been a rebellion before the war, and would be another during it. So though
there was no enemy invasion of the island that we know of, it was under
stress. This family's resources had been severely depleted by the required
"voluntary" support for Athens; and its fields had been overrun by poorly
tended cattle belonging to others. The neighbors were in similar straits. They
had to take strenuous measures to ensure their survival.
JES BROUGHT IN A BUNDLE of wheat stalks she had scavenged from the leavings of
the rogue cattle and dumped it down before Flo. "What they didn't eat, they
trampled on," she said, disgusted.
"That's the point," Flo said, shrugging. "To starve us out." She squinted at
the bundle. "This is good enough; we'll thresh it and get enough."
Lin agreed, opening the bundle. She picked up her makeshift stalk beater.
"We need more." Jes turned to go back to the small coastal pocket of arable
land that was their farm. Damn these cattle! She and the men would have driven
them off, but the animals had been unstoppable, and they were not allowed to
kill them. Three men, a boy, and a woman were not enough; they would have been
trampled too. So they had had to hide like cowards, and let the creatures do
what they wished. That meant the destruction of their gardens, severe damage
to their house, and trampling of their crops. But it was not as bad as an
enemy raid would have been; their men had not been killed, their women had not
been raped, and their children had not been

enslaved. They had been able to come out the moment the cattle left, thus
saving some of their things. On the whole, they were well off, compared to
those in Attica who had fled to the nearest walled settlements.
"Stay," Flo said, looking around. "We have something to do, while Sam is away
fetching supplies."
Jes had heard that tone before. "Wona?" she asked.
"Yes. You know the problem?"
Jes glanced at Lin, who at twelve was becoming a lovely young woman.
Except for those fingers. "Maybe."
Lin looked up. "She's seducing Ned."
So they did know. "Ned told me, and I didn't like it, but I kept his secret,"
Jes said. "We're close. He keeps my secrets too."
"I have no quarrel with that," Flo said. "Trust must not be broken. But
I suspected, so I had Lin spy on them to verify it. I think you will break no
trust if you tell us the rest of it now. We need full information before we
act -- and we must act."
"Now, while we can," Lin said. "While Sam is north, and Ned is buying wool in
Geraestus." That was the city on the extreme southern tip of Euboea, their
closest metropolis. They were country folk, but they did need supplies, and a
market for their weaving.
Jes felt a load leave her. "She wants to bear his child, because he's smarter
than Sam. She came on to him, and he -- he was inexperienced, and didn't know
how to stop her. She -- he said she had overwhelming sexual appeal. It was
like a conquering army, and he was vanquished before he ever tried to fight."
She paused, ruefully wishing she herself had appeal like that. Ned had told
her about it in excruciating detail, and she was ashamed to admit even to
herself that it had driven her into a private sexual ecstasy of desire and
frustration. "Then when they had done it -- really, when he had stood still
and she had done it to him -- she told him that if he told, she would tell Sam

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he had raped her, and that Sam would believe her. He knew Sam would. Sam -- "
She shrugged, and both Flo and Lin nodded. Sam was a good man and a good
brother, but what he didn't know about women would fill a long scroll. "Ned
wants to get out of it, but doesn't know how."
Flo nodded. "That's what I thought. Ned is our smartest member, but a woman
with a figure and a will can make a fool of any man when she sets her mind to
it. Ned can't free himself. Neither can Sam, if he even suspects.
That's why we'll have to do it for them."
"She won't go without reason," Lin said, glancing across to where Wona sat
watching the children. The children didn't really need watching, but Wona
never volunteered for any hard work, and this was easy work.
"I don't like killing," Jes said. "Not when it's someone I know."
Actually, she had never killed a human being. But she had been ready to, once
when she and Ned had been caught away from home by men intent on rape and
murder. She had distracted them, and Ned had stabbed them, and she felt
responsible. Jes had no affection for Wona, but she did know her personally,
and that made the difference.
"Neither do we," Flo said. "So we'll have to make a deal with her. I
have thought this out. If we can get her a better man, by her definition --
one who can put her in idle luxury -- she'll desert Sam. Sam may be unhappy
for a while, but he'll be better off, and he'll be able to find another
woman."
Jes nodded. "With those muscles, he can get a woman. But who would take
Wona? Anyone who knows her would know better. Sure, any man would make a wench
of her, for a night or a fortnight, but wouldn't many her."
"So we have to go farther afield," Flo said. "In the big city there should be
men who judge by nothing but appearance. That is the one thing she's got.
We've all seen how the men stare at her."

"And how she encourages it," Jes added. "It's amazing how her robe falls open
when she's near a handsome or powerful man." Jes was again privately jealous
of that ability, but would never say so.
"Big city?" Lin asked. "Do you mean Geraestus?"
"No; that's far too close. We don't want her ever coming back. Athens."
"But that's seven days' trek from here," Jes protested.
Flo shook her head. "Three days, if you row across the bay. You can do it; you
row every day."
Jes nodded. "I like to row. Yes -- and that would avoid Sam, if he is
returning."
"That was also my thought."
"So I should take her, and find her a richer man," Jes said. "So she is gone
when Sam returns."
Flo and Lin nodded.
"What of her child?"
"Wilda can remain with us. Wona's not much of a mother to her anyway.
She wanted a boy."
True. Wona would be glad to be free of her daughter. "But it is not safe for
two women traveling out of their territory."
"A woman and a man to guard her," Flo said.
"Her brother," Lin added.
Jes pondered. "I don't like it, but I agree it must be done. Can you talk her
into it?"
"Yes," Flo said grimly. "I will give her harsh alternatives."
"I have no stomach for that," Jes said.
"You are too manlike," Flo said, smiling. "You can't bear to hurt a woman."
"A beautiful woman," Lin added teasingly.
"But you keep your word, once given, like a man," Flo said. "She knows that."
They had thought it out. "Then tell her I will conduct her to Athens, and not
leave her until she is satisfied with a new man."

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Flo and Lin got up without further word and walked across to talk with
Wona. Jes picked up the flail and began beating the wheat stalks. But as she
worked, she watched, covertly. She saw Flo talking to Wona, gesturing
forcefully. She saw Wona's amazement, her defiance, then her capitulation. Jes
knew that Flo had threatened to kill Wona if she didn't go -- and Flo did have
the stomach to do what she had to. So she had offered Wona a less harsh
alternative, and Wona had had no choice but to accept it.
Wona got up and went to her daughter Wilda, a child of three. She was saying
farewell, and the child hardly seemed to notice. Wilda cared about Sam, who
played with her, and Flo, who nursed her; to the child, Wona was just another
person in the family.
Then Wona came across to Jes, while the other two remained with the children.
She looked grim, and there were tears on her face. So the separation was not
entirely easy for her. Jes disliked her less, for that.
"You will guide me safely to Athens?"
"Yes."
"And neither harm me nor allow me to come to harm?"
"As best I can."
"And not leave me until I say it is all right?"
That was harder. "Until you have a satisfactory man."
"No. Until I say it is all right. I want a man satisfactory to me, not to
you."
She had a point. She feared that Jes would declare a man to be suitable, just
to be rid of her. "Agreed."
"Swear it."

"I swear it."
Wona looked at her cannily. "You will travel as a man?"
"Yes."
"Then make an oath of brotherhood to me."
"I'm not going to be a man to you!" Jes said, embarrassed. She liked to
emulate the ways of a man, but she was always a woman beneath.
"But others won't know that."
Jes considered. A non-family man might indeed seek to make sexual use of a
woman he guarded, while he had the opportunity. A brother would not; he would
be seeking her best interests, and other men would appreciate that. "I
swear to be your brother, for this mission," Jes said reluctantly.
Wona smiled. "I trust you, Jes. Others may twist their logic, seeking ways
around their oaths. You don't. You hold to your given word without
equivocation."
"Yes."
"Then I will travel with you now."
"Now?"
"Flo wants me out of here now."
Jes looked across to Flo. They were too far apart for Flo to have heard, but
the woman nodded. Jes realized that she didn't want to give Ned any chance to
reappear either. This had to be clean, involving no man. So it had to be now,
while Sam was on a distant mission, and Dirk and Bry were out foraging for
rebuilding materials. All the men must be innocent of this deed, though they
would surely suspect its nature.
"Then get your things," Jes said. "I will get mine."
They went to the half-repaired house and packed their bags. Then they set off
together, saying farewell to no one else.
They walked to the shore. They lived near the southern tip of Euboea, and so
were part of the Delian League. The stately trieres of Athens, the ships with
three banks of oars, protected them from any direct attack by the
Spartans, who were not strong on water. It wasn't enough, however; that was
why Sam had gone far afield to trade for vital supplies, and why Wona had
become too much of a burden to support any longer. Wona was mischief,

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certainly, and had to be dealt with; but even if she had not cheated on Sam,
she would still have been a liability, because she didn't pull her weight.
Jes's small rowboat was one of the things they had that was especially useful.
She employed it to get around the long coast, trading supplies (in better
times) with neighbors for many leagues around. Jes liked to row; the boat was
so smooth, and carried so much, compared to portage across land. She could,
and often did, keep it up for many hours at a time, pretending she was an
oarsman on a trieres. There was a special joy in sustained moderate exercise
that made her forget for a while her general dissatisfaction with life.
They got in. Wona made no pretense of helping; even had she been of such a
mind, her thin arms would not have been able to do much. So she sat in the
bow, watching ahead, while Jes faced back and took the oars. She hardly needed
to see where she was going; she was well familiar with this shore.
They crossed to a small island Jes knew, and another island, heading west as
darkness came. Then, at the western shore of the island, they camped.
Jes had used this site before, and had no hesitation. She dug out blankets
from the cache she kept here, then threw out a line to fish. Then she made a
small fire and cooked the fish, sharing it with Wona. There was no point
trying to make the woman do anything constructive, and Jes did not bother.
Neither did she attempt to engage in conversation; Wona had nothing worthwhile
to offer there, either.
They slept, without event, though Jes remained alert for sounds, just in case.
It was part of her manly training, never to be caught off-guard, even

during slumber.
In the morning she rearranged her homespun cloak, tying it in the masculine
way. From here on, she would play the part of a man. Fortunately the clothing
of men and women did not differ much; both wore loose-fitting garments that
hung from the shoulder. Either a cloak called a peplos, or a sewn tunic called
a chiton, made of homespun wool. The wealthy might don a cool linen chiton
during the warm months, and have underclothing to alleviate the roughness of
the wool. So about all Jes had to do, to change genders, was to tie a band of
cloth around her chest to flatten her breasts, and arrange her short hair in
the masculine way. And set her face in the somewhat superior mode men
affected, especially in the presence of women.
There was one other thing: She used a peplos that had a special property. She
had made it herself, and taken considerable trouble. It was reversible, sewn
so that either side could be the exterior. The "male" side was rough gray; the
"female" side was dull yellow. No man would wear yellow, unless in a play
where he portrayed a woman.
They got in the boat, and set out across the channel. Jes stroked tirelessly,
not pushing herself beyond her pace, for the distance was what would have been
a day's march on land. Now Wona had to participate, because she knew the
likely consequence of a wrong direction: much longer time in the water, and
possibly getting caught by a wrong current or wind and being borne entirely
out to sea. Neither of them wanted that. They were hardly friends, but they
had a common mission to travel safely. Meanwhile, in the long silences, Jes
could pretend she was alone, and experience some of the deep relaxation of it.
She knew that she could never actually row aboard a trieres, because she
lacked the huge tough muscles, but by herself she could dream.
In six hours they made it to the mainland shore. Jes had not pushed herself
too hard, but her arms knew they had had a solid workout, and she was glad to
give her legs a turn. She hauled the boat to a thicket and concealed it
carefully. Normally coastal residents respected private property, but after
the devastation of the raiders that might have been here, it wasn't safe to
make assumptions.
Then Jes slung her bow over her shoulder, made sure of her knife, and was
ready to travel. Wona, of course, was rested.
They set out on the hike westward. They were now on mainland Attica, the home

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territory of Athens. Jes had been here before, when trading on rare occasions
with coastal folk, so knew there was a road not far inland. They walked until
they encountered this, then Jes turned south.
"But isn't Athens west?" Wona asked.
"It is, as the crow flies. But it will be much easier to follow the road,
because it follows the contour and is clear, as well as leading past
sanctuaries and settlements. It will curve west soon enough. All roads in
Attica go to Athens, ultimately."
"Oh."
They followed the road south, and sure enough, within the hour it curved
grandly west, passing a defiled sanctuary and a harbor with wreckage. The
raiders had certainly been here.
There was something in the road ahead. It turned out to be a human body.
Wona averted her gaze, but Jes kneeled to examine it. It was a man, his blood
turning brown on the dirt, his equipment gone. Evidently a farmer or laborer,
caught and murdered by the raiders, robbed and left where he had fallen.
"I don't like this," Jes murmured, a coldness going through her gut. She had
hoped it wouldn't come to this. Now she had to steel herself for violence.
"I hate gore," Wona agreed.
Jes grimaced. She wasn't partial to human gore herself, but it happened.
They had seen the leavings of occasional quarrels on Euboea. "He hasn't been
dead long enough."

"What does it matter? Two days or five days, he'll still stink."
"Precisely. He doesn't stink. This man died within hours."
Wona half turned, nervously. "Hours?"
"There has barely been time for the ants to find him. He was killed this
morning."
"But that means -- "
"That the raiders are still here," Jes finished grimly. "Probably a rear
guard, to see that stragglers are collected, and that no Athenian troops are
massing for a counterattack."
Wona was increasingly alarmed. "They are supposed to be gone."
"They are gone from Euboea, if they ever touched it. But this is farther in
toward Athens. They must have recalled the outlying parties before withdrawing
the main force. That's standard practice. An army needs spies ahead and
behind, so it neither walks into an ambush nor allows an ambush to close in
its rear. The peripheral troops are probably headed north now, after a final
sweep. But we had better be watchful, in case some remain in the vicinity. We
are following closer than we thought."
"Yes," Wona agreed, looking rapidly about. "What of this one?"
"We'll leave him. We have to reach a safe place to sleep, by nightfall."
Wona nodded. "How far to -- to a safe place?"
"There is a walled settlement within range by nightfall, if we travel well. I
haven't been there, but I know of it. From there it should be only another day
to Athens."
They resumed their trek, faster than before. Wona had been a slight drag, but
now she kept the pace very well. She had good legs, and could walk when she
had to.
But with raiders actually in the area, would walking well be enough? Jes knew
that they would be foolish to gamble on that. She would have to educate
Wona for war.
"You have a knife," Jes said.
"Yes."
"Do you know how to use it?"
"Yes."
"Demonstrate."
Wona fumbled inside her garment, hauling out a tied purse-bag.
"You should have it readier to hand than that," Jes said sternly. "If we

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encounter raiders intent on mayhem, you must be ready to defend yourself
instantly. I can't do it all."
Wona nodded, appreciating the point.
"Now pretend I am a man grabbing for you," Jes said, turning to her.
"How do you dispatch me?"
Wona lifted the knife up above her head, pointing down.
"No good! He'll just knock your arm aside and take it from you." Jes
demonstrated by blocking, then catching the woman's arm and twisting it slowly
until the knife was about to drop. She took it from the flaccid hand and
stepped back. "Now suppose I am the woman, and you the man. Come at me."
Wona reached for her. Jes brought the knife up from below her hip, until the
point touched Wona's belly. "Fast and hard, there, where he is soft. Twist as
it enters. Then step back and let him fall."
The woman seemed about to vomit. "I couldn't -- "
"You would rather be beaten, raped, and killed?" Jes asked harshly.
"This will not be a nice, gentle man like Sam whom you can twist around your
finger. He will likely see you as a fruit to be bitten and thrown away. You
may have just one chance to get him, before he gets you. So keep this in mind,
and act when you have to."
Wona nodded wanly.
Jes had mercy on her. "Maybe we won't encounter any raiders. We just

have to be ready, in case."
But in another hour, as the road bore northwest, they encountered exactly that
kind of trouble. An enemy party of five men was marching down the road, toward
them. Enemy mercenaries.
"Spartans!" Wona exclaimed.
"No," Jes said tersely. "Persian mercenaries."
"How do you know?"
"The Spartans generally don't use bows. They have bronze helms with red
plumes. These men use wicker shields covered in leather, and cloth head
wrappings."
"You know a lot about warriors," Wona said, impressed.
The two groups had sighted each other at the same time; it was too late to
leave the road and hide. "This is mischief," Jes muttered, bringing her bow
down from her shoulders. "Too many to fight, too late to escape."
"But they'll -- "
"Kill the man and rape the woman," Jes said. "To start. We don't want that.
We'll have to use desperate measures. I'll flee; you open your robe and scream
helplessly."
"But your oath -- "
"I'm not deserting you!" Jes snapped. "I can take out two with arrows;
you can take out one with your knife, as I showed you. Don't let him see it
before you use it. It's the other two we have to finesse. You must distract
them, just long enough. Trust me, and do your part. Do you understand?"
Cunning showed through Wona's fear. She did have half a notion of the ways of
necessity. She nodded. The knife was in her hand, hidden behind a fold of her
robe.
"Wait for my signal," Jes said. "Remember: underhand, hard into the gut, and
twist." Her heart was pounding, but she had already appraised the opposition.
It was a rag-tag bunch, rather than a disciplined group; they might have been
drinking pilfered wine while on patrol. Two had bows; three had spears. She
had to take out the bowmen first.
She kneeled, nocking an arrow and taking careful aim. She had never before
taken aim with intent to kill a human being, but she abated this concern by
reminding herself that the enemy would surely do worse to the two of them if
it got the chance, just as she had told Wona. Unless she could bluff them off.
The raiders kept coming, shouting battle oaths in their own foreign language.
That was another sign of their ragtag status; well disciplined

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Spartan phalanxes often marched silently into battle, not wasting energy.
These brutes had little respect for a party of two, especially when one was a
fearful woman and the other had the appearance of a stripling boy. They
probably expected the boy to prostrate himself and beg for mercy -- which he
wouldn't get. Stripling boys were preferred by some men to women, and would be
treated similarly. Also, a prime means of acquiring slaves was by capturing
them in battle, so they might have a continuing use for a stripling.
When the raiders were close enough to see that the boy had his bow aimed, they
paused. Then the two bowmen laughed and unslung their bows. They thought this
would be easy.
They were well within range. Jes pictured them in her mind as dangerous
animals, and loosed the first arrow. It caught one bowman in the chest, a
perfect shot. He went down immediately.
Glorious! Jes realized that her fear had left her. She was now a cold fighting
machine, doing what she had to do. She was also relieved that these were not
first line troops, because their armor would have turned her arrow.
The second raider got off one arrow before she could properly aim her second.
But his missed her. The key to success was to take time to aim, and to have
one's mind completely clear. She loosed her second as the man was

standing, trying to see the effect of his own arrow. He was criminally stupid,
and he paid for it by taking her arrow in his stomach. He wasn't dead, but he
would be in time.
The three others, realizing the danger in separation, charged forward.
They were stupid, but not cowards. They were lifting their long spears and
shields. The only good defense against arrow fire was a shield; only
drunkenness and overconfidence explained their vulnerability to her first
attack.
"Now!" Jes said, running off the road.
Wona screamed on cue, and her robe fell open to reveal her fine breasts.
She fluffed out her long hair, looking extremely feminine. She wasn't good for
much, but she was excellent at appearances.
The three charging men exchanged shouts. Then two ran off the road, pursuing
Jes, while one continued directly toward Wona. Good; they were separating.
Jes ran, not too fast. The two men gained, sure of their quarry. She glanced
back. The third man caught up to Wona, whose breasts were flouncing like her
hair. "Now!" Jes screamed again.
Then Jes whirled on the two, bringing her bow about, with its loosely nocked
arrow. She aimed as she drew back the string.
Caught by surprise, both men reacted in phenomenally stupid fashion:
they came to a sudden halt, staring.
Jes loosed at point-blank range. The arrow transfixed the larger man's chest,
and he was done for. She felt another surge of battle glee.
The last man hurled his spear, belatedly. His arm was good, but Jes had
anticipated it, and was already moving out of the way and turning sideways to
present a narrower target. It missed her, but the man was already almost upon
her. There was no time for another arrow.
But she had dropped her bow as she dodged, and was reaching for her knife. She
brought it up.
The man paused again, and this time not stupidly. He was, after all, a
soldier, accustomed to combat. His own thrusting dagger was in his hand, and
it was a monster, far larger than Jes's knife. In fact it was a short sword.
Jes's eyes widened. So did her mouth. Clear dismay gutted her courage.
She started to turn to flee.
"Haa!" the man cried, thrusting the sword straight at her. She smelled wine on
his breath, and saw the slightly clumsy manner of his attack. He was pretty
well inebriated, and that was her great fortune. Her odds would have been much
worse against fully prepared troops.
Jes was already dodging back and turning again. The thrust missed to the front

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as she stepped sideways into him. Her small blade came around and caught him
in the throat. "Fool!" she muttered as he went down in blood. He had fallen
for one of the elementary ploys: fake fright.
She swept up her bow and turned back toward the road. One figure stood;
one lay on the ground. Had Wona been dispatched? Then the figure waved,
showing its bare bosom.
Jes ran back to the road. The man lay groaning, the knife still in his chest.
Wona was in tears and hysterical. As Jes stepped onto the road, Wona almost
leaped at her, flinging her arms around her. "I did it! I did it!" she sobbed.
"Just as you showed me. It was awful!"
Jes held her, understanding. She herself had trained for exactly this type of
encounter, but she had never killed a man before. Now she had killed four. The
sheer need for action had prevented her from realizing its significance, but
now that it was done, her battle mindset was fading, and she was shaking.
She realized with surprise that Wona was providing her with comfort she
needed. They were comforting each other. She had never anticipated that. She

had never been Wona's friend. She still wasn't. But for this instant, they
needed each other. The horror of the killing each had done was overwhelming.
Now, perhaps, they had a kind of understanding. Because they had both just
been blooded.
But it couldn't last, and not just because Jes was no man to hold a woman like
this. She pulled back, nerving herself for what else had to be done. "There
may be others. We must get away from here."
"Others!" Wona exclaimed, realizing the continuing danger. Her fair bosom
heaved. "Yes -- we must go. But what of -- ?" She looked down at the fallen
man.
"You're right. We must recover the knife. Help me roll him over." Jes knew
that wasn't what Wona meant, but they had to be practical.
They both leaned down to take hold of the raider. Jes glanced across at
Wona, noting how her bared breasts hung down in a manner Jes's never would.
She could almost appreciate the effect such a sight would have on a man. No
wonder this lout had not seen the knife that stabbed him.
As the body rolled over, the knife came into view. Wona had done it right,
thrusting hard for the gut and jamming upward. She had scored through the
cloth tunic, which fortunately did not cover a metal scale shirt, as it would
have in a better appointed warrior. The point had not reached the heart, but
had done plenty of damage to the gut. He would die in agony.
She took hold of the hilt and wrenched it out. The man groaned again, and
blood welled out of the gash in his belly. Wona turned away, looking ill.
"We shouldn't leave him like this," Jes said, feeling ill herself.
"He'll die in hours, horribly."
"What can we do?" Wona asked faintly.
"We should kill him cleanly."
"I can't!"
"I'll do it," Jes said. "It's my job."
She leaned over the man, bringing the gore-stained knife to his throat.
His eyes opened, and he gazed at her.
Her hand shook. Her arm became paralyzed. "I can't," she said, echoing
Wona. "Not when he's not attacking me."
The man's eyes narrowed. Then, suddenly, his hand came up. It slapped against
Wona's knee, making her gasp. It reached up toward Jes.
Jes slashed the blade across his throat, cutting it gapingly open.
Bright blood gouted out, soaking his neck. Jes leaped back, horrified at what
her triggered battle reflex had made her do. But he was already done for.
Belatedly, she realized that the man had had the courage she lacked. He had
acted to make her react, so that he could have a quick death. He was an enemy,
a criminal, who had come to grief stupidly, but in the end he had shown a
quality to be respected.

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"You died bravely," she said, in a kind of benediction. That, oddly, made her
feel better. Then, to Wona: "Now we must go."
Wona nodded, not looking. Jes wiped the blade on the ground several times
until it was almost clean, then handed it to the other woman. She might need
it again.
They left the man there and walked on along the road. After a few steps, Wona
took Jes's hand, and Jes did not protest. All they had for the moment to stave
off the numbness of the killings was each other.
They passed the other two men, the bowmen. Jes hesitated, then stopped to take
one of their bows. "Can you use one of these?"
"No."
"Carry it anyway. And the quiver of arrows. I may need a spare. And we'd
better get their knives, too."
They took one knife, but then the other man groaned. Both women stood and
hurried away, unspeaking.

They had hardly gotten out of sight of the bodies before there was a sound
behind them. Was one of the victims recovering?
"More raiders!" Wona cried, spying the glint of spears. "Three, four!"
They were in for it. They should have hurried away the moment the last man was
down, instead of dawdling as they had. This party must have been coming behind
them, expecting to rendezvous with the party moving east. "Run!"
Jes said. "That walled town can't be far."
They ran, fright giving them energy. They left the new party behind, because
the raiders were checking their fallen associates. But Jes knew their respite
would be brief.
It was. In moments there was a cry of outrage, and the sound of pursuit.
To Jes's surprise, they kept their lead. Maybe they were fresher than the
raiders, who might have been pillaging all day, or maybe desperation accounted
for it. Or maybe they were simply more accustomed to running. Jes had always
had excellent physical endurance. But Wona -- what of her?
As if triggered by that thought, Wona's endurance faded. She was gasping. They
had to stop.
"You walk on ahead," Jes told her, slowing to a walk herself. "I'll deal with
these." She brought her bow around.
"No, I had better stay with you," Wona gasped. "You can't help me, and you
could get caught yourself. Go on, get ahead while you can."
"I'm not being noble," Wona said. "I'm not that kind of person. If something
happens to you, I'm helpless, so there's no point in my going ahead."
The woman was giving a sensible, selfish reason. Therefore it was suspect. "Is
that true?" Jes asked her.
"No. I -- I find I like you, to my surprise, and I want to help. If I
can."
Jes felt an astonishing surge of gratitude. Wona was showing support and
courage. But Jes covered her reaction with brusqueness, knowing that this was
no time to be sentimental. "Then turn with me, and bring about your bow as if
you can use it. Maybe we can back them off."
"Yes!"
They stopped and turned together. The men behind were coming rapidly.
There were four, and all had bows. If they couldn't be bluffed, this was
likely to be the end.
"Imitate my action, but don't loose your arrow," Jes said.
"I can't even draw it back," Wona said. "I will pretend I'm holding the
string."
Jes aimed carefully. As the men came to the fringe of bowshot range, they
stopped. Evidently they had seen the arrows in the slain men, so knew there
was a competent archer here. They were consulting with each other. That was
stupid on their part; they should have charged in without hesitation. Some
archers were more accurate than others, at the edge of their range, if given

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time to aim. They were giving her time.
Jes loosed her arrow when she saw their attention was distracted. That
prevented them from seeing her shot, so they did not take evasive action. The
arrow struck the largest of the four raiders, and he staggered and fell.
Beside her, Wona held up her bow and drew back her arm, slowly. The three
remaining men scrambled back out of range.
Jes smiled. "See -- they respect you. But there may be more coming up behind
them. We had better walk, as long as they let us."
They turned and walked. For a time the men did not pursue, not realizing their
advantage. Three against one would surely prevail, but they thought it was
three against two -- and that the two were expert. Obviously these men were
rough and tumble archers, whose accuracy was indifferent.
The sun was declining. They had perhaps another hour of daylight. Then

they could either hide in the dark, or gain the protection of the walled
settlement. If the raiders gave them time.
The raiders did not. Two of the men gathered themselves and charged forward,
spears raised. The third kneeled to take proper aim with his bow, covering
them, before joining the chase himself.
"I can take out one more," Jes said, turning. "Then it will be hand to hand.
Do your thing." She dreaded this, because she lacked the brute strength of a
man. These raiders would not again underestimate the strength of the
opposition.
"First I'll fire an arrow," Wona said, making her pretense with the bow.
"As soon as I fire, throw yourself to the side," Jes said. She aimed more
rapidly than she liked, and loosed her arrow. "Now!"
They hurled themselves to either side of the road. Just in time, for the arrow
thudded into the ground behind them. Jes wasn't sure whether it would have
struck either of them, but it certainly was possible.
One raider stumbled. She had gotten him on the leg. Well, that was better than
nothing; she could readily have missed.
The other two paused to help their companion. That was their mistake, because
they weren't following up their opportunity to get to close quarters.
Praise the gods for the errors these brutes kept making!
"Stand and aim!" Jes cried.
She and Wona took the road again and presented their bows. The raiders
retreated, dragging their comrade. They thought the odds were now even, and
they had no stomach for that. What a stroke of luck!
"Now we can walk again," Jes said. "They have given up."
"Thank Zeus!"
"Better to thank Artemis, the huntress. She protects archers -- and maidens."
She made a sarcastic gesture at Wona.
They walked swiftly away. "I must learn to use a bow," Wona said.
"It takes muscle, and years."
"You showed me how to use the knife, and it saved my life. What other weapon
can I learn?"
Jes considered. "Maybe the light club. A fast stroke can set a man back, even
knock him out. If he has a knife, you can hit his knife hand before he can
stab you. It's less deadly than a knife, but more versatile when there is more
than one enemy. It won't get stuck in someone's gut."
"The light club," Wona agreed.
As evening came, they spied the wall of the settlement. They had made it!
But as they approached, men appeared above the ramparts. They had bows aimed.
"They think we're raiders!" Jes cried in dismay.
"But we wear Delian apparel."
"We could have stolen it from people we killed. Not that Delian differs much
from any other everyday clothing in Greece. But they can see we're not armored
or fully armed. They're being ornery."
"Then now must be the time to do my thing." Wona stood up straight and opened

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her robe as she flounced out her hair.
There was a pause. Then a hand beckoned. They walked forward, though several
bows remained trained on them. They stopped before the main gate, which
remained closed.
"Who are you?" a man, evidently an officer, called from above, while the
bowmen stared avidly at Wona's open bosom.
"Wona from Euboea, traveling with my brother Jes," Wona answered. "We have
encountered raiders, and seek safety for the night."
"I don't think so," the man replied. "Go your way."
"But the raiders are behind us!" Wona cried.

"Exactly. They can't force the gate, so they want to get an infiltrator inside
to do it for them, at night. It's an old Spartan trick. We are not deceived."
"But we're Delians! We had to kill raiders to get here."
"Of course," the man said, with rich irony. "Like the Gorgon, you stunned them
to death with your aspect." The bowmen laughed uproariously.
Furious, Wona closed her robe. There was a murmur of dismay from the wall.
"Now go," the officer said. "In deference to your beauty, we are letting you
and your brother depart alive. But don't test our patience; we are already on
edge because of being besieged. My men will kill you if I give the order.
That would be a shame."
"But the siege is over!" Jes protested.
"So you say." He lifted his hand as if to signal the archers.
"It's no good," Jes murmured. "They think we're spies."
"Then we must go." Wona opened her robe to give them one more flash, then
closed it and turned away.
Jes smiled. Wona had just made the defenders regret their decision. How could
they know what might have been, had she been admitted? The town could have
admitted two stragglers without serious risk, but evidently the officer was a
martinet more interested in asserting his authority than in anyone's
convenience. Now their situation was bleak. Had the raiders known they would
be suspected? So there was no hurry to catch them?
"We'll have to hide in the hills, in the darkness," Jes said. "At least we
have the night."
"At least," Wona agreed bitterly.
They made their way south, where they found a burial ground. "This is good,"
Jes decided. "They won't bother us here."
"But there are evil spirits!"
"No, there are honest Delian spirits," Jes said firmly. "They will protect us,
not harm us."
Wona seemed doubtful, but she was even more tired than Jes, so acquiesced. "I
hope so."
They ate the last of their food, attended to natural functions, and lay down
among the burial markers to sleep. But though they were weary, sleep did not
come immediately. Too much had happened, of too much significance. When
Jes closed her eyes, she saw the bodies of the men she had killed. How many
had there been? Seven, she thought. It was sickening.
"Why do you hate me?" Wona asked.
This was a ploy to make her deny it. So she resisted. "You don't work enough,
you made a fool of Sam, and another of Ned."
"It is true. It is my nature. I envy you yours."
Jes was startled. "Me?"
"You are strong and honest and courageous."
"You value these things?"
"I value what I lack, yes."
"You, with the body to make men stare?"
"Do you envy me that?"
Jes had been brutally direct before. Now she had to be again. "Yes."
Wona laughed. "I would trade with you."

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Jes snorted, not believing it. But as she drifted at last to sleep, she
wondered.
She dreamed of bodies and blood and horror. The killing she had done might
have been justified, but it was as if she had been raped. Whatever innocence
she had had was forever gone. Her tears of remorse wet her face. The gore she
had made was now part of her soul, a well of horror she could not escape.

Once she heard sobbing. For a moment she was afraid it was her own, but it
turned out to be Wona's. Jes reached out and found the woman's hand, squeezing
it in silent support. That sufficed.
In the morning they cleaned up as well as they could, and made their way west
cross-country. It was slow and uncomfortable, but had some advantages:
the raiders weren't prowling here, and there was some foraging to be done.
They found a little overlooked grain in a battered shed, and there was some
fresh water in a buried well, and a few usable arrows scattered around
abandoned farmsteads. Some grapes had ripened, in the absence of people to
pick them. Those helped a lot. The inhabitants were still sealed inside the
walled settlements, and wouldn't come out until the last raiders were gone.
Jes found in the tangle of a wreckage a stout stick of suitable length.
"This will do for a club," she said, whacking it solidly against a tree. "Take
it."
Wona took it, holding it awkwardly. "If I tried to use this, I would bash
myself in the leg," she said ruefully.
"Any weapon takes time and practice to master. Strike it against tree trunks
and rocks as we pass. You will get the feel of it."
The woman nodded uncertainly. "I'll try."
"We may be as well off here as in the settlement," Jes remarked as they
resumed their westward trek. "At least we have freedom to travel without
hindrance."
"And freedom to sleep in peace," Wona said.
"We would have had that in the settlement."
"You would have that, there," Wona retorted. "What did you think would have
been the price of our admission?"
The bowmen would have wanted to use her body, Jes realized. "I thought you
liked it."
"The way you like slaying men."
A telling thrust! "I do that only when I have to."
"Exactly."
"But you so readily show your body to men," Jes said. "Why, if you don't want
them to have it?"
"Why do you keep your bow and knife ready for immediate use, if you don't want
to use them?"
Jes nodded. "I do what I hate, because the alternative would be worse."
"Exactly," Wona repeated. "And you make sure you are good at it, for the same
reason. My breasts and thighs are instruments of another kind."
Point made. Except for one thing. "But what of Ned?"
"How else was I to get a smart child?"
Jes was taken aback. "You did that only for the child?"
"Which I didn't get. Why would anyone want to go through all that, with a
stripling, if she didn't have to?"
"I would," Jes said defensively. "If any decent man were interested."
Wona turned to her in surprise. "Have you done it with any man?"
"No."
"Then how do you know you would like it?"
That set her back again. "Because -- because I'm interested. I want --
to do it. To enjoy a man. I know I'd like it."
"This is weird. I've got the body, you have the passion. I could live years
without sex, but men will never let me be, so I use it to gain favors I
need. You, who actually have desire -- "

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"Am not desired," Jes finished. She was surprised at herself for telling
Wona her secret. She normally spoke with candor, but had not expected any such
dialogue with this particular woman.
Wona pondered. "Last night I asked you why you hated me, and you answered. But
you also said you envied me my body. I thought you meant so that

you could befuddle men and gain ready advantage. But now I think that wasn't
it."
"That wasn't it," Jes agreed. "I would like to -- to have a man enjoy being
with me."
"I think we can make a deal. I have after all something you want."
"A deal?"
"You teach me the use of this club. I will teach you how to make men notice
you."
Jes laughed. "With my body? My face? Impossible."
"No more so than teaching me to wield this weapon effectively. We both have
weapons; they merely differ in nature."
Maybe she had a point. "If you could teach me that, I -- I would be amazed and
grateful."
"I can teach you. But you must be able to learn."
"Like you with the club?"
"Yes. I think it is a good analogy."
Jes paused. "It occurs to me that we have no rush to reach Athens, because it
may still be under siege. We are finding some food out here, while the people
are gone. Is this a good time to exchange skills?"
"I think it is. I want to get to Athens, but I don't want to fight any more
men. Neither your way nor mine. We should approach it cautiously."
"Then we are of one mind. Let's find a place to instruct and practice."
They searched out a farmstead that was in better shape than most, and settled
in for the time being. They made sure that there was no ready access without
discovery -- so that no raiders could come on them by surprise. Then they
foraged for more food, and excavated a chamber in the collapsed house for
their temporary residence. This would do, for a few days. Jes felt slightly
guilty about taking what was not theirs, but reminded herself that the laws of
hospitality decreed that any man open his house to travelers in need. So they
were simply discharging their host's duties for him, since his absence
prevented him from doing it himself. Certainly they were not doing any harm to
the premises.
By the time they had done all that, the day was over. They made a final check
of the premises, and almost as an afterthought set a trap by the main path: a
small pit covered over with a thin layer of sod, that would cause an intruder
to take a fall and give his presence away. Then, satisfied, they retired to
their chamber for the night.
"I am sorry about what I did to your brothers," Wona said. "They deserve
better."
Jes didn't answer. She did not want to be friendly with this woman, but
neither did she want to antagonize her unnecessarily. That would only
interfere with her mission. She was not inclined to forgive what Wona had
done. So what was there to say?
"That was why I agreed to leave without a fuss," Wona continued. "It was the
cleanest way to end it. Your family will be better off without me."
Again, Jes didn't answer. The woman was speaking truth.
"If I should ever have opportunity to make it up, I will do so. But we both
know that this is unlikely. So all I can do is leave my apology with you, and
hope that both Sam and Ned will have better times hereafter."
"I hope so too," Jes agreed, glad that she finally could speak without
offense.
"And tomorrow you will show me how to use the club, and I will show you how to
use your body in a new way."

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"Tomorrow," Jes agreed. Then they slept.
The next day they traded expertise, starting with the weapon. Jes showed
Wona how to swing it so that it put little stress on her wrist and arm, yet
developed formidable clout. She showed her how to block with it, by

anticipating the opponent's likely attack and countering it before it really
got started. How to gain advantage, by being ready at the moment of the
countering, then to strike with precision while the other party was still
pursuing his wasted move. "Keep your head, and watch his body and his weapon,"
she said. "You can prevail using a fraction of his energy, if you are cool.
One well placed, well timed blow can finish it almost before it starts; you
don't need a lot of muscle." Wona was clumsy, but eager to learn, and she soon
got the essence, if not the expertise. Then it was Wona's turn to instruct,
and Jes was surprised to discover just how much science there was in Wona's
feminine art. When she walked, she didn't just walk, she swung her hips. Jes
had thought it was natural to Wona, but in due course she herself was walking
similarly. When Wona spoke to a man, she didn't just speak, she murmured with
a certain lilt. When she stood still, she didn't just stand, she put her
weight on one leg and angled the opposite knee in to half cover it, so that
the line of her hip and thigh was accentuated. Her breathing was controlled,
so as to make her bosom rise and fall noticeably. Every action was studied,
for a single purpose: to make an impression on any nearby man.
"Of course you would have to adapt your clothing," Wona said. "You are
small-breasted, so you need to have a halter that lifts and compresses. It can
be done, if you wish."
"To what purpose? No matter what I do, I'm not going to impress a man."
"Yes you are," Wona insisted. "Many men like plump, but as many like slender.
The way you look at a man can make most of the rest irrelevant."
"Look at?"
"Picture yourself as a man for a moment, and look at me."
Jes did that. Wona met her gaze sidelong with half-lidded eyes, and a trace of
a smile. And Jes felt the lure of it. That amazed her, for she had no interest
in actually being with any woman. How much stronger that look must be with a
genuine man.
She practiced that too, and though it seemed highly artificial, Wona said she
was getting it.
So they continued, for the day, alternating instructions. Betweentimes, they
foraged, and rested. They saw no other raiders, so concluded that the
Spartans had vacated this area. Soon the local citizens would emerge from
their walled settlement and reclaim their lands.
"They are Delians, as are we," Jes said. "But I think we had better be gone
from here."
"Yes. They don't trust us."
So on the following morning they resumed their travel, but did not hurry. They
remained alert for people of either side, and continued their exchange of
information. It was clear that Wona would not be a very effective warrior, and
that Jes would not be a very effective seductress, but both were making
progress. Wona was acquiring the extra twitch of the wrist that made the
clubhead swing with extra force just as it connected to the target, and
Jes was learning how to use her hair to cover enough of her face to make the
rest seem dainty. Both of them were discovering the pleasure of mastering new
skills.
"I can almost believe that I could knock out a man, if he didn't take me
seriously," Wona remarked with wonder.
"And I might almost seduce a man, if he didn't get too clear a look at me,"
Jes said with similar wonder.
"Should we look for two men to practice on?"
"No!" Jes replied with sudden alarm. Then they both laughed. Jes realized that
it was the first time they had laughed together, at the same thing.

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They continued cross-country, crossing over the mountain range rather than
following the more convenient road. The trek was considerably rougher,

but the foraging was equivalently better. They found a spring, and camped near
it another night, then followed its trickle down into the valley, where it
became the River Ilissos, leading right to Athens. They knew the city by its
massive wall, looming ever higher as they approached.
And there the people were emerging in force. Streams of them were moving
outward along several great roads that converged at the city. That meant that
the last of the raiders was gone. They had timed it well. Not only that, they
were better rested and fed than they would otherwise have been, and had
learned things from each other that might or might not benefit them in the
future.
But for now they were brother and sister. Brother Jes was here to find a
suitable husband for his lovely sister Wona. Great Athens was the place to
look.
They rehearsed their roles, and stepped onto a road leading to one of the
mighty open gates. The fact that they were going the opposite way from the
overwhelming majority might attract attention, but more likely they would be
taken for two who had turned back for something forgotten in the city.
Attention was something they did not want, at present.
Athens was huge. It dwarfed the walled settlement they had approached before.
The great outer wall was three times the height of a man, and the gate was
guarded by several armed men. But this time there was no challenge; they were
admitted without fuss, when there was a break in the stream of people leaving
the city.
Inside, it was reasonably chaotic. It looked as though the majority of the
refugees from the raiders had camped just inside the wall. The region stank.
The two of them hurried on toward the center of the city.
They passed the Acropolis, which was a rocky citadel on which stood the great
monuments of the city. If rose well above the surrounding plain, overlooking
everything else. They saw the Temple of Athene, and the Parthenon, built of
shining marble, including even the roof. Jes was amazed by its grandeur, and
would have liked to walk through it, but Wona was more practical: they had to
find a place to stay. She hardly cared about monumental architecture; she
preferred creature comfort.
They circled the Acropolis and walked on to the Agora, where there was a
structure that did impress Wona: the immense two-storied colonnaded market
called the Stoa of Attalus. "I could shop there forever!" she breathed.
"Not without gold," Jes muttered. She was aware of how little of that they
had. They would have to find work to sustain them, while searching for a
suitable man for Wona to marry. They couldn't forage, here in the city.
Now they made their way to the nearest residential suburb. There were no
towering marble buildings here, just close set dwellings that jammed in
together so tightly that there was little or no space between them. Some were
larger, containing a number of little chambers. These were the rental units
for visitors.
For one of their few silver owls they rented a house for half a month.
It was a modest brick structure with a courtyard but no windows and no
furniture. But it was a base of operations, not far from the market, and that
was good. It was dirty, because it had just been vacated that morning, but
they knew how to clean it.
Now they went to the market and bought bread and wine. There were many fancy
things on sale, and Wona would have liked to buy them all, but Jes knew
better. "We have to earn more money before we can eat well. Otherwise we will
soon starve. Remember, we can't forage here." Wona reluctantly agreed, and
they bought a bag of dry beans. They would swell when soaked in water, and
would last for some time.
They returned to their house. Jes used her knife to carve off slices of bread,

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and Wona poured wine into clay cups. They dipped the bread into the

wine, to soften it and flavor it, and chewed. It was a good, if ordinary,
meal.
"Now we must consider," Jes said. "We shall need to become familiar with this
city, in order to ascertain where the best prospects are. You don't want a man
of the streets, you want a citizen. You don't want single nights, you want
marriage. That means not only locating the good men, but getting to know them.
This may take time."
Wona nodded. "There should be some at the Acropolis."
"Yes. But to impress them, you will heed better clothing. That means more
silver. So our first priority is to earn it. How can we do that?"
"You might join their military force."
"Then I'd be shipped away to wherever they were fighting a battle, leaving you
here alone."
"No."
Jes nodded. "I suspect we should get a job together. Maybe weaving; we both
know how to do that."
"But that's woman's work."
Jes grimaced. "I may just have to be a woman, here in the city, until I
can go home."
"But two women alone -- would it be any safer in the city than in the
countryside?"
She had a point. "Maybe not." Jes considered further. "We could carry
weapons."
"Not a bow. No woman carries a bow."
"The knives. The clubs. There won't be any distant hostilities here anyway,
only close ones."
Wona touched her knife. She had it in a sheath on her thigh, so it was
concealed. "But the club -- "
"I noticed that some men here have been injured. They wear braces on their
limbs, to strengthen them while they heal. Some of those braces are crude.
Suppose we wore such braces on our legs?"
"But we aren't injured."
"How would anyone know?"
Wona shook her head. "Why should we want to -- "
"Like this." Jes took her club and laid it along the outside of her right leg.
Then she tied it there with a band of cloth. "See -- a splint." She stood and
walked around the chamber. "It chafes a bit, but some padding should ease
that."
Wona's face brightened. "And if some man attacks -- "
Jes reached down and quickly untied the club. "Then I am armed."
"I like it." Wona tied her own club similarly. "But this wouldn't do at the
Acropolis."
"At such time as we have finer clothing, we'll seek some other way."
"But maybe, for such work, I should not be beautiful," Wona said thoughtfully.
"As plain as you can be," Jes agreed. "That won't be a problem for me."
They settled down for the night, satisfied. The house was bare and chill, but
no worse than camping outside. They would get by well enough, for now.
In the morning they ate more wine-soaked bread, used the refuse potty and
dumped it in the trench behind the house, and strapped on their braces.
Then they went out to seek employment at the nearest weaving establishment.
Jes was garbed as a woman.
The proprietor hardly glanced at them. "If you work well, you get paid.
I will be the judge of your merit."
Jes shrugged. "If you are not fair, we will seek work elsewhere."

"I am fair. My name is Crockson."

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"I am Jes. This is my sister Wona."
He led them to the working area, where several women labored at small looms.
"You are familiar with such equipment?"
"We have a similar loom at home," Jes said with satisfaction. "Give us your
pattern."
Thus directly, they were working. The work was long and tedious but familiar,
and they were competent. These were standard weighted warp looms, with the
vertical strands suspended from a cloth beam and held taut by decoratively
molded baked clay weights tied at their bottoms. The alternating warp threads
were divided into two sections, which hung on either side of a wooden bar: the
shed. The weft, or horizontal threads, was woven in between the descending
warp at intervals, according to the pattern. The patterns were simple,
requiring no particular attention. Jes got no special thrill from weaving,
because it was traditional woman's work, but she could have handled a much
fancier design than this.
At times they shifted off to help prepare the threads, which were of two
types. Wool was the common fiber, and it came in several natural colors:
black, gray, brown, tawny, beige, and white. It was easy to dye, and was warm.
Flax was rarer, because it required rich soil to grow and much water for its
initial processing, but it was softer next to the skin, and much stronger. So
the finer weaving was done with flax. But most of the work in the shop was on
the wool, which had to be untangled, cleared of burrs and debris, and combed
out into long, fluffy sausage-shaped bundles for spinning. They used drop
spindles for spinning, patiently forming the thread. There were always women
on the looms, and others "working the allotment," as the cleaning, combing,
and spinning of the wool was called. This was the most tedious chore, and
there were normally two women spinning thread for each one working the loom.
Most of their production was for export, because Athenian women were expected
to fulfill the modest needs of their own households.
Days passed, becoming routine. Crockson was as good as his word, paying them
fairly for their production. Soon they had enough money to improve their
life-style somewhat, with better food and better blankets. Loom work was no
quick path to riches, and they still had to live frugally, but they were no
longer at risk of starvation.
Jes was interested in the things of the big city, and really appreciated its
beauties. Wona was indifferent to those, but was alert for the places where
wealthy men might be found.
One day they visited the Agora again. This time they toured the Painted
Stoa, a handsome colonnaded stone building in which many paintings were hung.
These showed scenes of Athenian military exploits, done on removable wooden
panels. Jes's eye was caught by those depicting sea battles. How she wished
she could step into one of those scenes, and be there on a trieres, a ship
with three levels of oars, the ruler of the seas. But alas, it was just a
foolish fancy.
There were no rich citizens in attendance on that day, and Wona was soon eager
to visit elsewhere. So they went to the Monument of the Eponymous
Heroes, one of the newest structures. Ten new tribes had been formed, and the
names of a hundred early Athenian heroes were sent to the oracle at Delphi.
The oracle picked ten, and it was after these ten that the tribes were named.
Now there were ten statues honoring these heroes. The monument served a
practical as well as an esthetic function, because public notices were posted
here, concerning upcoming business of the tribes. But no really likely
prospects were reading the notices at the moment, so Wona soon lost interest.
Thus their visit was a failure, in one sense, but Jes was glad to have done
it. She would have liked to see all the monuments of Athens.
Crockson had seemed indifferent to their presence; they were just two

weavers among a number. Then he surprised them. After a few days he spoke
privately to Jes. "I lost several good employees recently, because of the

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disruption of the war. I see that you are competent in all the aspects of
weaving, and do not shirk. I will promote you to manager of this section, at
higher pay, if you will commit to remaining here for at least a year."
Jes didn't question why he knew that her commitment would be good; he was
clearly a competent judge of character. He had made the offer to her because
he saw that her work was better, and that she had discipline and integrity.
Unfortunately, she couldn't oblige him. "I am here only until my sister finds
a suitable man to marry. Then I must go home to my family."
"Your sister is a beautiful but inattentive woman." He squinted at her.
"Sister-in-law?"
He was observant indeed! "Yes."
"If I help you find a man for her -- "
"I will go home that much sooner," Jes said firmly. "I have prior
commitments."
"And you honor them. You are a good woman. I will help you anyway. I
will tell you the best and most honest merchandiser of clothing, and where to
encounter citizens."
"We would appreciate that. But why should you bother?"
"Because if ever your situation changes, and you need to return to
Athens for a prolonged stay, you will take the job I have offered you."
She considered, and nodded. "I do not expect to return, but if I do --
it is a good offer."
He told her what he knew, and in due course she and Wona went shopping with
their new obols and drachma coins where Crockson had recommended, and were
treated fairly. They were ready for the next stage.
But excellent prospects turned out not to be as common as they had hoped, and
one section of the city after another failed to yield Wona's prize.
Jes chafed as months passed, taking through the winter, without resolution.
Meanwhile she worked in the position Crockson had offered, running his shop.
She had to admit it was a comfortable interim situation. If only it didn't
seem so permanent!
Finally, they went to the Acropolis as brother and sister, because
unaccompanied women were frowned on here. Wona was well dressed, a splendor to
behold, catching male eyes in exactly the manner intended. The market place
was one thing, but the seat of government was another; women needed to know
their place. Jes carried a short staff, which she used as a cane, as if
somewhat uncertain of her footing. They ascended by way of the Propylaea, an
enormous sloping ramp, and went to make an offering at the Temple of Athene.
There were indeed men there, for Athene was the goddess for whom the city was
named, and many wished for her favor as the goddess of war, fertility,
handicrafts, and wisdom. Wona flirted shamelessly, apparently on the theory
that more prospects were better than fewer. Jes tried to caution her, but
could not speak openly in public, lest their purpose become too obvious.
No man, however, made a direct approach; this was after all a pious place. But
when they passed a dark alcove, a hand reached out and caught Wona by the
elbow, hauling her in. It took Jes a moment to realize that she was gone, for
Jes's attention had been on the grandeur of the temple. Then she whirled, and
spied the action in the alcove. The man wore the robes of a citizen. These
were of the ordinary style, simple in cut and material, but fine in
workmanship. Ostentation was frowned on, but quality in clothing did show.
However, in this case, no quality of manner was showing.
The man was groping Wona hungrily, sliding one hand into her décolletage while
the other drew her in closer. Wona was trying to extricate herself without
screaming or being unladylike, but it was clear that more was needed,

and quickly. What the man had in mind was something other than courtship and
marriage.
Jes stepped in. "My sister is not interested in this relationship," she said
politely but firmly. "Please desist and release her."

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"Get out of here, stripling," the man grunted, getting hold of Wona's breast.
So much for politeness. Jes lifted her staff and rapped the man smartly across
the back of the head. He grunted and his grip slackened, allowing Wona to
wrench free.
"We had better flee this region," Jes muttered. "Hurry."
They hurried, but it was already too late. "That man attacked me!" the citizen
cried. "Kill him!"
This was no time to argue the niceties of provocation and reaction. They broke
into a run.
The temple guards quickly took up the chase. Jes knew there would be no mercy,
for the guards would take the word of the citizen over that of noncitizens.
They had to hide immediately -- but where?
"The priestesses' quarters!" Wona said, pointing to an offshoot archway.
They dodged into it, and then around another corner. There was a great loom
with a partly done tapestry.
They paused. "Can we masquerade as two women?" Wona asked with half a smile.
"We had better," Jes agreed wryly.
Hastily Wona simplified her robe, removed her limited jewelry, and adjusted
her composure to fit the style of a temple woman. Jes hid her staff in an
alcove and quickly removed and reversed her robe so that its yellow side was
out, then donned it and adjusted her style to be feminine as they scrambled
for the stools before the tapestry.
The thing was huge, and very finely wrought. A pattern was being made
according to a picture, and a scene was being woven in. They only glanced at
it as they completed their adjustments, quickly loosening and binding back
their hair in the temple mode. Wona had to rub off makeup, while Jes tried to
make herself look more submissive.
Only now did they have the chance to really examine the loom. "Look at this!"
Wona breathed. "Brass thread weights -- with owls."
Jes peered at one. Indeed, it was metal, imprinted with a design showing an
owl with human hands spinning wool from a basket in front of it. "Athene's
bird," she agreed. "The same as on the silver coin."
The picture was about half-complete, showing a series of horizontally oriented
scenes covering the entire cloth. The design was exceedingly intricate, in two
colors, each requiring its own special threads: saffron-
yellow and purple. Such a tapestry would require months to complete.
"This isn't just an incidental project," Wona said, awed.
"This is the peplos," Jes agreed. "The Peplos of Athene."
They gazed at it, overwhelmed by the significance of their discovery.
Every summer the Panathenian festival was held in Hekatombaion, the first
month of the Athenian calendar, and it was the biggest event of the year. The
culmination was the presentation of the richly woven robe that was the peplos
to the statue of Athene, and the sacrifice of a hundred cows on Athene's
altar, which was then set afire by the prize-winning torchbearer.
The weaving of the peplos was reserved for specially chosen women, a great
honor. The colors were expensive and significant. Saffron associated with
women and femininity; indeed, a poorer grade of that color was what Jes and
Wona wore. The purple was "sea purple," the color of kings, its rich dye
derived from the murex shell. Unlike most natural dyes, both of these were
colorfast in both water and sunlight. Athene rated only the very best.
The scenes on the tapestry had as yet only their top halves, but this

was enough to show that they portrayed Athene and Zeus leading the gods to
victory in their epic struggle with the Titans. The design differed somewhat
each year, but the essence was the same. The peplos would dress the life-sized
statue of Athene Polias -- "Goddess of the City" -- on the Acropolis.
"It would be almost sacrilegious to weave even one thread of this sacred
work," Wona said. "We are not ergastinai, the approved matrons."
"So let's do it," Jes said wickedly.

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But before they could properly orient on the pattern and find the correct
thread, the pursuit burst in. The delay had not been at all long;
their amazement at their discovery had made it seem more. Two guards stopped
to stare suspiciously at them. Probably other chambers were being checked at
the same time, so the guards had no way of knowing which one held the
fugitives. That didn't mean that Jes and Wona were safe, just that they had a
chance. If they could bluff well enough.
They both paused with their hands lifted, as if interrupted amidst their joint
labor on the tapestry. Both stared at the intruders with startled innocence.
Jes had just recently learned the expression, and hoped she had it right.
One guard studied Wona, who still looked ambitiously female despite hunching
down to seem less so. "That one could be the woman." He turned to stare at
Jes. "But that's not the youth."
"He's beardless," the other said. "Might be him."
Jes took the initiative. "Why are you staring at me?" she asked. "Don't you
louts have better things to do than intrude on the work of temple matrons?"
The first guard hesitated, but then decided. "You could be him. We'll take you
to the head priestess."
That would be disaster. Jes knew she had to act quickly and decisively to
avert such a step. That meant either grabbing a weapon and trying to disable
them silently, which was surely a hopeless effort, or satisfying them that she
really was a woman.
They stepped toward her. She set one foot on her own hem and stood up
suddenly, in alarm that was genuine, though not for the reason she wished to
convey. The foot anchored the robe, preventing it from rising with her, and it
pulled down off her right shoulder, exposing her breasts.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, in only half-feigned mortification. She quickly hauled
her robe back up as she inhaled and arched her back, making her modest bosom
stand out just before it was covered.
The men stopped. "That's no stripling," one muttered. Then, embarrassed, they
turned and exited the chamber.
Jes sat back on the stool, weak with relief. Her heart was pounding, and she
felt her face flushing. In that moment she remembered an episode with Ned,
when they had taken wares for trading to a distant city and she had distracted
bad men by wearing a string skirt. That, too, might have been fun, had there
not been peril.
"Well played!" Wona said. "You showed them just enough, in a brief flash, so
that their male eyes exaggerated the effect, and you also forced a maidenly
blush."
"Half of it was accident," Jes said.
"Then make sure it's not an accident next time. Show men only flashes, not the
full display, until such time as they are committed. You could also have
remained sitting."
"But then the robe wouldn't have come off."
"Like so." Wona swung her legs around toward Jes, and her robe failed to
follow perfectly, so that one thigh and the dark crevice between thighs lay
open to view. It was very clear that Wona was no man.
"Oh." That might indeed have been easier.

"But your way was good too," Wona said. "With that maidenly exclamation.
In that instant you seemed as female as it is possible to be."
"Thank you." But Jes knew that they weren't safe yet. "How do we escape before
the real priestesses return?"
Wona reflected. "We may just have to walk out as we are. But it's too soon to
make the attempt; the guards are still searching. So let's weave our thread."
Jes nodded. They addressed the tapestry, studying the pattern, and solemnly
wove in one thread. No one would notice, but they would know that they were
part of the most famous garment in Greece.
By then, enough time had passed. They went to the corner and recovered their

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hidden things, and also strapped their daggers back on to their inner thighs,
just in case.
Then they heard someone coming. They dived back to the stools and addressed
the tapestry again. Jes's staff made a clatter as she hurled it back into the
corner.
A single, mature woman entered. She wore a tiara bearing an owl, and a
necklace of beads carved in the likeness of olives, another symbol of Athene.
Her quality saffron robe identified her clearly: she was the head priestess!
The woman's glance was imperious. "Come with me," she said. "Bring your
things."
Jes exchanged a wary look with Wona. Did the priestess know? Or were there so
many novice priestesses that she simply didn't recognize them all?
But then why was she ordering them to go with her? Was she going to turn them
in to the male authorities?
There didn't seem to be much choice. They stood, and Jes fetched her staff.
They followed the priestess out of the chamber.
She led them through convoluted passages to an opulent chamber in another part
of the temple. "The goddess saw fit to shield you from the guards' eyes, and
we will not presume to go against her will. But you must leave. We can not
afford scandal in the Temple of Athene. There has been no episode. The guards
were confused. Depart by this rear exit." She opened a door that led directly
outside. "Never speak of this. Agreed?"
Jes and Wona exchanged another glance. Then both nodded. The head priestess
was letting them go!
The woman left by the internal door. Alone, they quickly changed back to their
original aspects, Jes becoming male. Then they walked out the back way as man
and woman.
"She knew," Jes murmured as they got clear of the temple.
"She knew," Wona agreed. "She saw that we were harmless, and she did not want
blood on her floors. So she got rid of us much the way we got rid of the
guards, with minimum fuss. She is not our friend."
"But neither is she our enemy. To that we owe our lives."
"We owe our lives," Wona agreed soberly. "I think I will not look for men any
more there, lest she change her mind."
They walked back to their apartment. The day was a failure, in the main sense,
but perhaps not entirely.
Another day they visited the port city of Piraeus, which was connected to
Athens by a set of long walls that enclosed the road to north and south.
The walls were fortified throughout, and there were cross-walls so that even
if an enemy force got between the main walls, there would be no easy access to
the cities of Athens or Piraeus. The bowmen on the walls were relaxed, now
that the enemy was gone, but it was clear that they could devastate a hostile
force if the need came.
Piraeus was much smaller than Athens, but interesting because of its harbors
and the ships in them. The stately trieres were there, moving out on

their two sails, their oarsmen resting. Jes was fascinated. She was familiar
with the type of ship, but had never actually been on one. "To think they have
to pay oarsmen to serve on those," she said. "I would do it for food."
"How much do they pay the captain?"
"The trierarch? Nothing, usually. It's a public duty for citizens of high
standing, lasting a year. He has to outfit the ship and pay the crew. The city
is supposed to pay for it all, but that can take time, and meanwhile he has to
cover it all himself. That's why so few ever volunteer for this duty."
"No wonder, if it costs them a fortune instead of making them a fortune!" Then
Wona's mind fixed on another aspect. "That means the captains have to be rich
to start with."
"Yes. That's why it is limited to citizens of high standing. Others would not
be able to afford it."

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"So such a citizen would be a good one to marry."
Now Jes got her drift. "Yes, if he needed a wife."
"Suddenly I am interested in trieres."
Jes shook her head. "It's the wealthy or prominent citizens you are interested
in. During the year they serve on ship, they aren't available at home. You
need to catch one before or after his public service."
"But by the same token, he will be in need of female companionship during that
year, and perhaps less choosy about it. It is surely a good time to make the
acquaintance."
"There are hetaerae in plenty for such needs." Those were the women of easy
virtue. It was an honorable profession, but not what Wona was looking for.
"When the ship is abroad?"
Jes considered. "I suppose not when it is between ports. But you don't like
roughing it in the country, any better than any other woman does."
Wona sighed. "True. So Athens remains the best hunting ground."
Jes agreed. She hoped Wona would find a suitable man soon, because she was
getting homesick for her family. Sam should have returned by now, with his
trading goods, and would be adjusting to the loss of Wona. Ned would be free
of her. New things would be happening. Even if life was lean, it was her life,
and she wanted it back.
Sam viewed his home farm with evident joy. "This is where I live," he told
Snow. "Now you can marry my brother Ned."
Snow smiled, though she was oddly sad. "I haven't met him yet. He may not like
me."
"Any man will like you, once he knows you. You are beautiful."
How she wished such words were sincere! "You are kind to say so, Sam."
Soon the approaching pair was spied. A young girl sounded the alarm and
charged across the landscape to meet them. Then she halted, realizing that one
of them was a stranger.
"My little sister Lin," Sam said, beckoning to the girl.
"She is lovely."
"Like you," he said.
"No, I mean she really is. She is about to be an outstanding woman."
Sam did not reply, but his jaw tightened. That was odd. He clearly loved his
sister, but there was something he wasn't saying. The girl certainly was
beautiful in face and body, unlike Snow, who had only body. What was his
reservation?
Shy, now, Lin approached. "Who -- "
"This is Snow," Sam said. "She has come to marry Ned."
"To meet Ned," Snow said quickly. Sam was a wonderful man, but somewhat short
on social finesse.
Lin turned an abruptly appraising gaze on Snow. "Maybe so," she said

after a moment. "Flo will decide."
"Flo will decide," Snow agreed, relieved that there was someone else to make
such decisions. What would be, would be.
"Snow is really nice," Sam said, defensively. "Ned will like her."
Lin considered a moment more. Then she smiled brilliantly, as if something
wonderful had just happened. "I'll tell Flo!" She spun about and ran back
toward the farm, exuberantly leaping across rocks and plants.
"Lin's a great kid," Sam said as they followed more sedately.
"Any moment now she will be a lovely young woman," Snow said firmly.
What was the mystery about her?
Sam stared hard at the ground. "I think I must tell you. Did you see her
hand?"
"Yes. Her fingers are delicate and well formed." Then she realized that she
had seen only the girl's right hand. The left had been kept out of sight.
"Something is wrong with the left hand?"
"She has six fingers."

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Suddenly it came together. "You say Lin is lovely, like me. You mean that one
feature spoils all the rest."
Sam looked everywhere but at her. "I didn't mean -- "
"She has a deformed hand. I have a homely face."
"I don't care about either!" Sam exclaimed. "I love -- " He balked, flustered.
"I love my sister."
He was socially clumsy, yet of good motive. Snow wished that he weren't
already married. She would marry his brother, who was surely a fine young man,
but she knew already that he could never be the same as Sam.
Now two figures appeared: Lin and a massive older woman. That would be
Flo, the true leader of the family. Snow felt suddenly nervous. Where would
she go, if Flo rejected her?
The four of them came together. Flo took the initiative. "Hello, Sam.
Hello, Snow. We must talk."
"I brought her home for -- " Sam started.
"Of course. Sam, you go catch up with the others. This way, Snow."
Sam hesitated, then shrugged and followed Lin away.
Bemused, Snow followed the woman to the station where she had been scraping a
sheep hide. It was a messy, tedious job. "I can do that," Snow said quickly.
"I am a sheep-herder's daughter."
"We'll both do it," Flo said, handing her a bronze scraper.
They got to work on the hide. Snow expected the fat woman to ask about her
background and reason for coming here, and she would answer directly, without
dwelling on her grief. But Flo surprised her.
"Sam isn't married anymore."
Snow stared at her. "But he told me -- "
"He doesn't know it yet. Lin's telling him now. His faithless wife has gone to
Athens to find a richer man. We will not see her again."
Snow fumbled for words. "She left him? Without word? What kind of woman would
-- ?"
"We arranged it. She wasn't pulling her weight, and she seduced Ned. We had to
be rid of her. While Sam was away. You understand."
Snow nodded. Sam would never have agreed to such a thing, yet if his wife were
faithless, and with Sam's brother, it had to be done. So this was no simple
family situation. "You want me to go elsewhere? I never intended to complicate
things."
"Do you love Sam?"
Shaken, Snow could only confess the truth. "Yes. But I never told him --
we never -- I thought he was -- "
"Married. And Sam is an honorable man. We want him untouched by scandal.
Never speak of what his wife did with his brother."

"I will never speak of it," Snow agreed. "It would hurt him to know. He spoke
very well of Ned, recommending him to me. He said Ned wouldn't mind that
I had been raped."
Flo's mouth tightened, and Snow remembered belatedly that Flo herself had been
raped. "True. We understand about such things."
"And that Ned judged by other things than -- than faces. I'm sure he is a fine
-- "
"Ned is. He is a brilliant man, and a kind one. Sam meant well. But you will
marry Sam. You are obviously the woman for him."
A dam within her burst. Flo had put things together so quickly, so well.
Snow's tears flowed.
"Sam is not brilliant," Flo continued. "But he has fair judgment. We know he
would not have brought you home for Ned, were you not a fine woman, and I can
see that you are. You would have been very good for Ned. But it would not be
fair for Sam to lose a second woman to his brother. Lin says Sam loves you.
Lin is very sharp about such things."
"I think he does," Snow agreed.

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"This solves our problem. We feared that Sam would be upset. Now he will not
be. You will share his room tonight, and marry him when convenient. It will be
clear to all that you had no guilt in his loss of Wona, because she left
before you came." She stood and laid one heavy arm across Snow's shoulders.
"Welcome to the family. These are lean times, but I think you will like us
well enough."
Snow nodded, trying to wipe away her tears. It was so sudden, so unexpected.
She had been so careful not to compromise Sam, and now she could love him
openly. She had indeed been aware of his growing feeling for her, and his
guilt about that feeling, and she had felt guilt for returning it. But she had
never said anything, respecting his determination to do the right thing.
She knew that Sam would gladly marry her, and would not much question the
disappearance of his former wife. The sisters had efficiently put it together,
wasting no time.
Things went well enough, in Athens, except for one thing: Wona still couldn't
find a man. She wouldn't take anything less than a full citizen, and citizens
had their choice of women of the lower echelons, so there was a good deal of
competition. She could, and occasionally did, spend the night with a prospect,
and it seemed that she impressed such men favorably, but they were not looking
to marry. For one thing, there was the war with Sparta, and everyone who was
anyone was making desperate preparations for the resumption of hostilities. It
was not a time for making long-range commitments.
Sure enough, in the spring, the Spartan army marched into Attica again.
Athens did have ground forces, but they were outnumbered two to one, and could
not stand against the invaders. So the Athenian soldiers retreated, delaying
the Spartan advance as much as was feasible, while the population of the
countryside poured into the city. The people actually dismantled the wood
structures, of their homes and used the material to build crude huts within
Athens. These had poor ventilation, and were called "swelterings" in summer.
It was not yet summer, but already they stank. As more and more people crowded
in, the shelters spread onto holy ground normally reserved for the temples,
and many squatters took up residence in the temples themselves. The priests
didn't like it, of course, but there was not a lot they could do about it.
These were, after all, supporters of Athens, seeking succor in their time of
need, and theoretically the temples were for the benefit of the people.
Fortunately the competent statesman Perikles, who had lost his position as a
strategoi, as a member of the governing board of ten generals, earlier that
year, was back. Popular opinion had rebounded in his favor, because his
enemies had turned out to be far less capable, if not actually incompetent.

Maybe, the common folk thought, this siege would not have occurred if Perikles
had been at the helm. So Perikles had returned to power.
Now Jes and Wona saw what it was like from inside. The city doubled in size,
and there was hardly room for all the refugees. Extensive camps formed just
within the walls, and strangers thronged the market places. Rental units
became precious. The landlords raised the rent, knowing that if the renters
didn't pay it, someone else would. Prices rose, especially for food.
There was also more crime. Jes had to assume her masculine form and carry a
weapon in an obvious manner; otherwise they would have been assailed by
robbers who were looking for food and silver, but would not be averse to a bit
of rape on the side. Even with the weapon, they had to be careful, and stay
clear of certain regions, lest they be overwhelmed by disreputable groups of
hungry men. On occasion there were mobs of women, too; they robbed for silver
and food and clothing, but didn't rape.
Crockson was very good about it. He hired guards to protect the workers, and
sometimes when the mobs were bad, the guards would see the women home. He
hired women from the refugees. Jes assumed some managerial duties, because it
was not possible for Crockson to monitor the larger number by himself, and she
was paid extra. She had not made the deal to stay a year, but she saw how easy

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it would be to make that deal, should she ever change her mind.
But what she really wanted was to be back home. She hated this crowded city,
where the forest was not even visible, and neighbor had to be wary of
neighbor. She had thought this would be a fairly brief mission; instead it was
dragging out interminably. She couldn't really blame Wona for that; in any
other times, the woman should have been able to land a citizen. It was this
disruptive war that changed everything. What could be worse?
Too soon, they found out. One of the new workers developed a rash. "You must
go home immediately," Crockson said, alarmed.
"But I haven't finished my work," the woman protested. What she meant was that
she hadn't been paid yet, and she needed the money.
Crockson gave her several small silver obols. "Go home and get well.
There will be work for you then."
"But it is not safe alone on the street."
Crockson was beginning to look desperate. Jes didn't understand why he was
making such a fuss, as the woman's illness did not seem to be serious. But she
stepped in to help. "I can take you home."
"A woman?" the woman asked doubtfully.
"She will suffice," Crockson said, bringing Jes's outdoor cloak.
Jes did her best to mask her shock. Her club was concealed in the cloak, and
he had to be aware of its presence. He had, it seemed, caught on to her
masquerade, and not told. The man did have discretion. She had been foolishly
sure she was undetected.
Jes donned the peplos, and they stepped out onto the street. Wona remained
working, knowing that Jes would return. The moment they were out, Jes paused
to redo her hair and make herself into a man. The woman, evidently feeling
worse, seemed not to notice.
They walked to the camp where the woman lived. A rough-looking man eyed them,
but Jes lifted her club in a nominally friendly salute, and he turned away.
Had she been seen as a woman, he would not have. Then she would have had to
club him, swiftly, before he could do damage, perhaps attracting attention.
Attention, in such a situation, could be deadly, because it summoned ruffians
in the manner of hungry sharks. This way was better.
The woman was fading rapidly. Jes had to take her by the elbow to steady her,
lest she fall. Crockson was right: this was more than an incidental malady.
They reached the woman's temporary hovel. She collapsed on her dirty straw
bed. No one else was there. "You have a family?" Jes asked, concerned.

"Yes. Working. They will be home soon. Thank you."
Not entirely satisfied, but anxious to get away from this unpleasant section
and back to work, Jes left her lying there and made her way down the alleys.
Obviously Crockson recognized the illness; she would ask him about it.
"It is the plague," Crockson told her grimly. "I have seen it elsewhere.
First the rash, then sickness in the gut, and it can get so intense there is
blood in the refuse. Many die."
"It is that bad?" Jes did not like the sound of this, as she had been exposed
to it.
He nodded gravely. "I think I won't get it, because I survived it before. I
never felt worse in my life! There was swelling under my arms and in my groin,
and -- never mind. I heard rumors of an outbreak a few days ago, but did not
want to believe it, and did not want to help spread false panic. After all,
there are many illnesses in these crowded conditions, and most are not
serious. But now there is no doubt. I have some advice I hate to give you."
"Advice?"
"Get out of here. Out of Athens. So you won't catch it. Believe me, you don't
want it. Come back when it's gone."
"But the city is already under siege! How can we -- ?"
"At night, perhaps. The Spartans can't watch every cranny all the time.
If they see you, Wona may have to -- you know. Distract the men for a while.

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But you may be able to get away."
"But my work here -- "
"I value your work highly. But you will be of no use to me if you die from the
plague. Take your friend and go today. Here is your pay." He gave her a small
bag of silver coins. She could tell by the heft of it that it was worth far
more than he owed them.
"I think your advice is good," she said. "I think you are a decent man."
"It's a business decision," he said, embarrassed. "And I'm not doing it for
the others. I want you to return to run my shop."
She knew better. The silver was really a gift. "Thank you," she said, touched
by his generosity. Then she collected Wona, and they left.
But the news of the plague was already circulating. Crockson was not the only
one who had heard rumors. It seemed that the fever had appeared in several
parts of the city. People were starting to panic. The already-stressed veneer
of law was rupturing, and brigands, ready to ply their trade the moment any
opportunity arose, were openly attacking people, as if not concerned about any
penalties. They were probably correct.
They went to their apartment and gathered up their things. Then, as evening
approached, they headed for the nearest gate.
"Magic amulets for sale," a street hawker called. "Protection against the
plague."
"I want one of those," Wona said. Before Jes could protest, she signaled the
hawker, who came right over.
Jes clenched her jaw. It was the woman's right to waste a coin on magic if she
chose to.
They resumed their trek to the gate. It was closed. "Go back," the guard
called. "The city is under siege."
They knew that. But the guard wasn't amenable to their logic of going out
under cover of darkness. "You think it's some kind of picnic out there?"
he demanded. "They're slaughtering first and asking questions second. Go back
into the city, you fools."
Jes cursed herself for not realizing that of course it would be this way. She
and Wona should have left the city before the plague, not after it struck.
Before the siege. They had indeed been fools.
"Maybe we can go to Piraeus and catch a merchant ship," Wona said, horrified.
"They're full when they come in, but empty when they go out, aren't

they?"
"Maybe," Jes agreed doubtfully, still cursing herself for her lack of
foresight.
They made their way to the doubly walled road to the port city. But as soon as
they reached it, they saw it was hopeless. The region between the walls was
jammed with the temporary structures of the refugees, and they could hear the
groans of a number with the plague. There might or might not be a ship out,
but they would have to go through the thick of the illness to reach it.
Well, if that was the way it was, they had better brave it now, before it got
any worse. "How is it in Piraeus?" Jes asked a guard at the gate between the
walled channel and Athens proper.
"That's where this curse started," the man replied. "I'm glad I've got my
magic amulet." He touched a wooden charm strung around his neck. "I don't want
to die of that thing."
Jes had little faith in amulets for protection. She had experimented with one
as a child, and found that she was as likely to get hurt with it as without
it. But maybe she hadn't had a good one. "So it's worse in the port city?"
"For sure. The ships are coming back with it too."
That did it. They turned away, and returned disconsolately to their apartment
in Athens. It was too late to go back to work, but they would do so the next
day. Crockson's generous gesture had not helped them after all.
"I don't want to catch the plague," Wona said, looking nervously around.

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She dug out the amulet she had bought and put it on.
Jes didn't comment. But she was not easy as she sank into sleep that night.
The next day they went to work. "It was too late to go," she explained to
Crockson. "But we thank you." She gave him the bag of silver, which she had
never opened.
"May Athene preserve you," he said simply.
Jes did not have a great deal of faith in the beneficence of the gods, either,
but it wasn't politic to say so. "Thank you."
More women came down with the plague, and Jes saw them back to their hovels,
one by one. But there was hope, because the majority of people did not come
down with the malady. Maybe the siege of illness, like that of the
Spartan army, would ease without becoming total. Stories abounded, accounting
for it. "The Peloponnesians poisoned the cisterns," a woman whispered
fearfully. "I don't dare drink from one." She was referring to the mechanism
that collected rainwater, because no new wells had been sunk to provide water
for the massive influx of people. Jes didn't believe that, because there
should be no Spartans inside the city. "It is the wrath of the gods," another
woman said. "Especially Apollo. He did it to the Greek host before the city of
Troy; now he's doing it to us. The oracle said it would be so!" But Jes
remembered no such pronouncement by the oracle. The woman was insistent: "My
grandfather recalls it from the time of his youth." She went into a singsong.
"The Dorian war will come, and death along with it."
"No, it was 'dearth,' " another woman protested.
"It was both," a third said. "And we will pay the price. We should never have
gotten into this war."
With that Jes was inclined to agree. She had learned from Crockson, who had an
interest in contemporary politics, that Athens had been arrogant.
Sparta had committed sacrilege against the god Poseidon, who had punished the
city with a series of earthquakes a generation ago, sending it into decline.
Athens had taken advantage of the situation to increase its own power. It had
built a large navy to defeat the dreaded Persians, and expanded it thereafter.
Other cities in the Delian League were nominally equal, but Athens had

increasingly treated them like subject states. Athens had used the money from
the League treasury as her own, claiming it was to ensure their protection.
Three years ago Athens had banned Megaran traders from Aegean markets and
instituted an embargo against Megaris itself. Athens had also intervened in
disputes between Corinth and Corcyra, and forbade Potidaea from choosing its
annual magistrate from Corinth, as had been the custom. So Corinth had made it
clear to Sparta that they must go to war, or face the dissolution of the rival
Peloponnesian League. Thus had the war been joined. "And it wouldn't have
happened," Crockson concluded, "if Athens had not gotten too pushy. You can't
do that to other cities, without building resentment. Now look where it's
gotten us."
Indeed, they were in trouble. Jes was sure that the refugees had brought the
plague with them. If there had not been war, there would not have been
refugees, and then there might have been no plague. But of course it was too
late to complain.
The moment the siege lifted, they would leave Athens and seek a husband for
Wona in a city that was free of the plague. It wasn't just that the war had
siphoned off most of the worthwhile men, but that the plague had caused an
almost complete breakdown in order. Jes would have much preferred to walk
alone through a forest infested with vicious wild animals, than on a city
street. Almost every day she had to use her club, and sometimes her knife, to
defend Wona and herself from ruffians. How she longed for the calm island of
Euboea!
Then Jes abruptly felt strange. She found herself blinking repeatedly and
rubbing her eyes, which were stinging. She felt cold and unsteady. Then she
smelled her own breath, which was unnaturally fetid. "Oh, no!"

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Crockson heard her exclamation. He came over to check. "Dust blow in your
eyes?"
"I think I've got the plague." For she had seen the symptoms often enough in
others, during the past few days.
He put a hand on her forehead. "Fever, inflamed eyes, bad breath. I
agree. You have the plague."
"I must go home before -- "
He shook his head. "I think not. You must remain here."
"But others will catch -- "
"We don't know how it spreads, but it isn't necessarily from one person to
another, or all my workers would have it now, instead of only a quarter of
them. I suspect it is bad water. In any event, if it spreads from person to
person, you got it from someone here, so it is my responsibility. I will take
care of you. You can stay in the back storage chamber."
"But Wona -- she can't go home alone."
"She will remain here too, to bring you food and water and change your
clothing." He smiled, very briefly. "I think you would rather have her do some
things for you, than have me do them."
Wona came up. "Yes, I will do them. I can't go out by myself."
Jes was too distracted to protest further. She allowed herself to be guided to
the back room.
Her fever got worse. She lay on a pallet, shivering though Wona piled blankets
on her. Her tongue swelled until she feared she would choke on it, and her
throat became so sore that breathing was verging on painful. Wona brought a
basin of water and sponged her face, but it didn't make her feel better. Then,
by uneasy stages, she stumbled her way into sleep.
She woke sneezing, and each sneeze burned her throat, mouth and nose horribly.
The room looked red, because of the inflammation of her eyes. She tried to
speak, and her voice was hoarse. "I hate this!"
Wona appeared. "Rest, Jes. That is all you can do."
Indeed, that was all she was capable of doing, other than suffering.

Wona gave her water to sip, and she managed some, but had no appetite for
food. Wona helped her use the pot, because she was too unsteady to manage it
on her own. Then she sank back into a tormented haziness that lasted the
night. Her dreams were scattered and senseless, with inexplicable things like
the cracking open of bones to reveal horrible jelly inside, and seeing a woman
crack open similarly, jelly squeezing out of her, that assumed the form of a
baby. But it couldn't be, because they left it there on the ground and walked
away. Then a fire blazing across a valley, and she was running right into it,
her legs strangely thick. Huge Sam and little Lin dancing together, making
people laugh. Paddling strange long boats along an unfamiliar shore. Building
a house made of monstrous bones. Ned painting a picture on a big rock. And Ned
again, trying to run, and Wona, pursuing him.
She opened her eyes, and there was Wona. "You stole my brother!" Jes exclaimed
in a fury.
"Yes. I owe you for that." Wona held a cup of water to her mouth.
"Drink."
"I should have killed you!"
"Instead you protected me. You are a better person than I am. Drink."
Jes drank, and faded back out.
She wasn't sure how much time passed, but it could have been several days. The
plague reached into her chest, making her have a hard cough. Her chest got
tired, but she couldn't stop coughing. She had seen it in others, and wondered
why they didn't just stop coughing when it hurt; now she knew.
She thought the malady was passing, but that was illusion. It was merely
retrenching. It reached into her belly and twisted her gut. She retched,
vomited, and vomited again, spewing out whatever remained inside her, and when
that was gone, she continued heaving dry. That wasn't enough, and she kept

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heaving until it seemed she would turn inside out, finally managing to spit
out foul-looking and -smelling bile. Wona cleaned it all up without comment.
But the worst had not yet passed. After more scattered intervals of sleep, she
developed the characteristic rash. It was awful. Her skin turned reddish, and
was spotted with pustules and small sores. She hated the look of it.
Wona put a hand on her forehead to check her fever -- and Jes screamed.
She was so hot that she couldn't bear to be touched. "I'm burning, burning!"
she moaned.
"But you're not at all hot," Wona protested.
That was what she thought. Jes's heat increased, until she could not bear the
touch of anything. Not a blanket, not even the lightest clothing. She threw
everything off and lay naked, not caring whether Crockson might come in and
see her. In her fevered memory, he had been in and out many times already.
She woke again, intolerably thirsty. Wona was absent, but she couldn't wait.
"Water," she gasped.
After a time, Crockson did come in, carrying a jar of water and a cup.
"Can you drink it yourself?" he asked, extending the brimming cup.
She snatched it from his hand, spilling some, and jammed it to her face.
She gulped it avidly down, but her terrible thirst was not quenched. Crockson
poured more from the jar, and she drank this too, and then a third. Still she
was not quenched.
"That is enough, for now," Crockson said.
"But I need more -- much more," she protested, reaching for the cup again.
He held it away. "You will drown in water, and never get enough. Trust me. I
have seen it before. I will give you more later. Now rest."
She looked down, and saw her stomach distended from the water inside her, and
realized it was true. This thirst could not be quenched.
"Where is Wona?" she asked querulously. "Why isn't she doing this?"

He gestured to the far side of the chamber. There was Wona, asleep. "She has
served you well, but she too needs her sleep," he explained.
"That's more than I expected," Jes said.
"She needs you," he said. "If you die, she is alone without having found her
man. So she has done the best she can for you."
It did make sense. "And you -- why do you help us so freely?" she demanded.
"You know I will not stay to run your shop."
"I like you, Jes," he said seriously. "You are my employee, but I regard you
as a friend. There are thousands of people in this city more worthy of dying
than you, so I hope to keep you among the living."
"But you are too generous. That bag of silver -- "
"You returned it."
"Because we didn't go."
"How many others would have done that?"
Jes couldn't answer, because she couldn't think of any she knew here in
Athens.
He stepped back. "Now try to rest. This malady is not yet done with you."
"I can't rest!"
"That is part of it. But you must try. I will bring more water soon." He left
the room.
Only then did she remember that she was naked. She hadn't noticed, in her
inordinate thirst. She suspected that he hadn't noticed either. It wasn't
because she wasn't much of a figure of a woman, especially in this grotesque
illness; it was because he had no designs on her.
But what about Wona? Had she bought his favor?
Jes tried to sleep, but could not. She tried at least to rest, and could not.
She knew that she would never be able to relax, no matter how tired she
became. The plague simply would not allow it.
After a time, Wona stirred. "Oh, you are alert," she said, getting up.
"Did you pay Crockson?"

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Wona laughed. "With what? We owe him silver already."
"In your way."
"Oh. No. I offered, but he declined. He said he preferred to be your friend."
She shook her head, bemused. "He doesn't even want your body, just your
respect. He is strange."
"Very strange," Jes agreed. Some day she would find a way to repay
Crockson for his kindness.
She managed to eat a little, and of course she drank all the water they would
allow her. It was more than she needed, because what she didn't throw up or
sweat away she urinated away. More than once she overflowed the pot; it seemed
impossible to empty it as fast as she filled it. But her thirst remained.
The violent spasms passed, but Jes did not feel very much better. She must
have gotten snatches of sleep, because sometimes it was light in the chamber,
and sometimes dark. Wona told her that seven days had passed since she first
felt the fever. That seemed impossible; it was either far too long, or far too
brief.
The plague stopped bothering her skin so much, and her cough eased. But the
malady moved deeper into her gut. Now she had diarrhea, and it was like the
heaves, in that it wouldn't stop. It turned black, and she knew there was
blood in it, but she couldn't stop it from coming. Wona took the pot out
repeatedly, not complaining.
Then Jes lost her strength, as she had not during the violent stage. She
became so extremely weak that she could hardly stir herself to move. She lay
there and felt her life fading away.
At one point she heard them talking, but she lacked the strength to

react. "What can we do?" Wona asked. "She's so near death."
"This is the point at which she will die, if she is going to,"
Crockson's voice replied. "I am not a doctor, but I think it is the bleeding
in the bowels that takes away the life energy. She must heal by herself -- or
fail to. We can only watch."
"I hate this!"
"So do I. But there can be worse. So though I hope she lives, I would rather
see her die, than -- "
"Than what?" Wona demanded, alarmed. "What could be worse than death?"
"Some recover, but leave parts of themselves behind. The distemper can fix
itself on some particular member."
"I don't understand."
"It ruins the hands, making them permanently useless. Or the feet, so that the
person can't walk. Or the genitals, or the eyes, leaving them blind."
"Oh," Wona said, appalled.
"Or even the mind, so that they remember nothing, and neither know themselves
nor recognize their friends."
"You are right," Wona agreed. "Better she die, than that."
"But she is strong," he concluded. "I think she will survive, and be herself
again." But he did not sound confident.
"May I speak frankly?" Now there was a certain edge to Wona's voice.
"Of course. We have a common cause, in the saving of this person."
"Do we? I am not her friend, but am bound to her until I find a suitable man.
She will be very glad to see me placed, so she is free. So the relationship
between the two of us is understood. But you -- why are you being so generous
to us?"
"I am generous to those I feel are deserving."
"By that you mean Jes."
"Well, I mean no offense to you. You are a beautiful woman, and you have done
your part."
"I offered my body to you, in payment for our debt to you. Why did you
refuse?"
"It would not be right to take such advantage -- "

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"And you have not taken such advantage of any of the other women who work for
you. Many are married, and many are not pretty, so maybe that is
understandable. But I am another matter. I owe you, and I am unmarried, and
beautiful. You could legitimately take me. Yet you do not."
"You must remain chaste for the man you will marry."
Wona spat in negation. "You know chastity is not a word that ever applied to
me."
"Still -- "
"Do you hold my nature against me?"
"No, I understand it. You are as you are, and you use what skills you possess
to forward your security, just as others do."
"Why don't you marry me? Then Jes will be immediately free."
"But you don't want an old trader, you want a citizen with status."
"I am realistic. You are a good man. You would take good care of me."
"This is not feasible. You must seek a man better suited to you."
"Would you prefer Jes? She is slender where I am not. Some men like their
women lean."
"I value Jes as a friend and a fine person. I would not -- "
"Because your true passion is not for girls at all," Wona said. "It is for
boys."
There was a silence.
"And you took Jes for a boy, at first," she continued relentlessly. "She
passes for a stripling man, so that was understandable. But she needed no
weapon to impress you."

"It is a respectable association," Crockson said defensively.
"Yes, in the cities. Less so, in the countryside. I am not condemning you,
merely making sure I understand. You do for her what you would do for a young
male lover."
"Yes. I wish I could have had a relationship with her. But I can love no
woman, and she is a woman, no matter how she garbs herself. But if you feel
you owe me anything, repay me in this manner: do not speak of this to her. I
love her in my own fashion, which is not hers, and my love can never be
consummated. I would not for all the world cause her the kind of distress such
a revelation would bring her."
"As you wish. I make no claim to being any fine person, but I pay a price when
it is fair. I will spare her this."
"Thank you."
"But if you married me, I would be tolerant and discreet. I have no more
actual interest in sex with men than you do in sex with women. Except as an
exercise in power over them. All I want is a secure, wealthy life."
There was a pause, as Crockson considered. "In another culture, I think
I would find your offer attractive. But here in Athens there is not such need
for concealment. I can sponsor my lovers openly, so long as I do not pursue
the relationship past the age of maturity, which is thirty. The only exception
is when I do not wish to hurt one I respect like Jes. I think I am better off
single."
Wona sighed. "Surely so."
Jes faded out. But now she had something to think about. What she had learned
distressed her. She was more attractive as a boy than as a woman? But what
could she do about it?
More time passed. Sometimes she was conscious of being picked up and moved, so
that her soiled bedding could be changed, and she doubted that Wona had the
strength to do that, so it must be Crockson. Someone was cleaning her body and
putting her back down. She lacked the strength to protest, so kept her eyes
closed and let it happen. She faded in and out.
Then she woke feeling not as bad. She still lacked the will to move, but
thought she could do so if she tried. She heard the others talking.
"It is awful out there," Crockson said. "I have heard the reports.

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Neither priest nor amulet retards the spread or mitigates the intensity of the
malady. Physicians are helpless before it; they themselves are dying from it.
All through the city, Athenians are abandoning themselves to despair. The
space between the walls leading to Piraeus is a scene of desolation. Every man
attacked with the malady loses his courage at once, and lies down and dies
without any attempt to seek for preservatives. At first friends and relatives
lent their aid to tend the sick, but so many of those attendants perished
themselves that soon no man would thus expose himself. The most generous
spirits, who persisted the longest in helping others, were carried off in the
greatest numbers. So the sick ones are left to die alone and unheeded.
Sometimes all the inmates of a house are swept away one after another, no man
being willing to go near that house. Half-dead sufferers lie unattended around
all the springs and reservoirs."
"But if you are right," Wona said, horrified, "aren't they then giving the
plague to the water others must drink?"
"That is my fear. But I found a clean supply, so that no bad water comes into
this house."
"That must be why I didn't get it," Wona said. "I know of no reason the gods
would protect me."
"The gods protected no one," Crockson said. "I understand that bodies are
piled up in the temples. I dare not go there to check myself, of course."
"Why not?" Wona asked ironically.
But he answered her seriously. "You know why not! As if the physical

suffering isn't bad enough, those who survive the plague are filled with
reckless despair. They have cast away the bonds of law and morality, amidst
such uncertainty of every man both for his own life and that of others. Men
care not to abstain from wrongdoing, because punishment is not likely to
overtake them, and they fear that they will not live long enough to reap any
further benefits of life. So they take advantage of that brief interval to
snatch what joy they may, however ill-gotten, before the hand of destiny falls
upon them. They steal, they kill, they rape -- and the women are hardly less
loath to participate, so many cannot be raped, being all too eager to
experience what they might otherwise never feel. So, for some, it is a weird
orgy of despairing pleasure. But I prefer to remain inside, my door
barricaded."
"And you shared your hoarded food and water with us," Wona said.
He laughed, not unkindly. "Jes did not eat much."
"If any deserve to live, she does. She hates me for what I did to her
brothers, and she had a hundred chances to kill me or leave me to die, but she
was true to her word."
"That is another reason why she is so precious to me. I see so few truly
honest and decent folk. They are like coins of gold."
Perhaps the dialogue continued, but Jes faded out again. When she woke, it was
another day and this time she felt strong enough to open her eyes.
Wona was there. "Are you feeling better?"
"Yes. Weak, but better."
"Can you move your hands? Your feet?"
Jes understood her concern, and shared it. She moved her hands, then her feet,
then her head. "I am whole."
"May the gods be praised!"
Recovery was not swift, but as Jes ate and drank her strength seeped back. In
due course she was able to stand and walk, and to attend to her own functions.
She had recovered without permanent loss, thanks to the care and protection
she had received.
It was just as well, because Crockson was running out of food. Soon they would
have to go out to get more.
When Jes felt able to walk a distance, and to swing her club, they went out as
a tight group. The city was desolate. A stench hung over it. Bodies littered

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the streets.
But there was some activity. Men were hauling the bodies away. Crockson
recognized one. "He is an indifferent sort, never one to do a favor that
promised no swift reward," he remarked. "Yet not a criminal either. I wonder
what he is up to?"
"Maybe he is being paid to bring in bodies," Wona suggested.
"Hail!" Crockson called to the man. "How is it that you risk this grisly
contact?"
"I am recovered from the plague," the man replied. "When I felt the awful
weakness, and knew I was dying, I begged Athene to spare me, and promised I
would make a better thing of my future than I had of my past.
Athene spared me, so now I am doing public service, knowing I will not get the
plague again. Do you wish to help?"
Crockson looked at the others, then answered. "Yes, as soon as we have found
food."
"Go to the Temple of Athene. They will give you good food if you help them
clean up."
So it was that they found themselves, in the ensuing days, hauling bodies out
of the temple. Wagons took them to funeral pyres, where the fires raged
continuously. They still had to be watchful for maddened or indifferent
ruffians, but a kind of macabre order was returning to the city.
"Where are the vultures?" Wona asked.

Jes looked around. Wona was right: there should be scavengers throughout the
city, but there were none.
"I think I know," Crockson said. "They preyed on contaminated bodies, and died
themselves."
Wona laughed. "Served them right!"
In a few days Jes's strength had largely returned. She knew it would take time
for her to achieve her former health, but she could manage well enough for
now.
She reconsidered what she had heard during her illness, and found that it no
longer bothered her. What did it matter that Crockson, like many Greek men,
preferred to associate with boys rather than women? He was not forcing his way
on anyone else. She had encountered such boys elsewhere, on occasion, and
understood that they valued their associations with wealthy elder benefactors,
and often remained friendly with them long after passing on into manhood and
founding their own families. There was no force, only agreement.
And Crockson had been extremely good to her despite knowing that there could
never be the kind of association he had craved. If he had taken her at first
for a boy -- well, that was a misunderstanding she had invited by her
masquerade. He had never reproved her for deceiving him. Thus he was indeed
being generous in the manner of a friend, and she respected that.
Should she say anything to him? It would be easy to avoid the subject, but not
entirely honest. So she broached it, when there was opportunity for a private
dialogue. "I was extremely ill, and I know you cared for me, so that I
survived instead of dying or becoming maimed."
"I am glad you recovered."
"I heard what you said to Wona. About boys. Now I understand why you offered
me a permanent position."
He looked as if expecting a blow. "I wish you had not."
"I would consider it an honor to be your friend."
He stared at her. "You are not revolted?"
"I was disturbed by the notion that I might be more attractive as a boy than
as a woman. That you might have seen me as such. But I learned better, as
I pondered your generosity to us. We all are as we are, and there is no fault
in that. I thank you for increasing my understanding."
"Oh, Jes, you have gladdened me immensely. I very much want to be your
friend."

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"Then we are friends. There is no need to speak of this again."
"No need," he agreed, visibly relieved.
The next day Jes decided to go back to work at the looms. Wona had been
working on them, when the burden of Jes's care ameliorated. For the time being
Crockson had no other workers; they had either succumbed to the plague, or
were caring for sick relatives. There was a considerable backlog of weaving to
be done.
The siege lifted. It was rumored that the Spartans were afraid that the plague
would spread to them. It was now possible to leave Athens.
"You must go," Crockson said before she could bring the matter up. "Wona has
escaped so far, but the plague is not over; others fall prey to it daily, in
no pattern I can ascertain. If she gets it -- her constitution is not as
robust as yours -- "
"Yes," Jes agreed. "We must go to a city that doesn't have the plague.
But we can't leave yet. Neither of us has worked in a fortnight, and we owe
you silver."
"Consider it a loan. And take this." He proffered the same little bag of coins
he had before.
"But we couldn't possibly -- "
"When Wona marries a rich man, she can send you with repayment," he said,
pressing the bag into her hand.

"But I might not get the money, or might not survive to return it to you. You
are likely to lose it despite my best intentions."
"Please. It is a thing I need to do for you. For what might have been, had it
been possible."
She considered that, understanding. "With that understanding, I can accept
your generosity. I think, considering what you have done for us, I owe you my
life, and would have repaid you as you desire, had it been possible."
"I very much appreciate the sentiment."
"Do you have advice about our destination?"
"Calydon, on the Gulf of Corinth. It is a member of the Delian League, and far
from Euboea."
He understood her need perfectly. "And Athens is on the route back from there
to my home."
"I hope to see you again, before long," he said.
"Would you take it amiss if I kissed you?"
He looked uneasy. "I prefer to remember you as I once thought you were."
Jes nodded. The magic would be absent, because he knew she was not a boy.
"Another time, perhaps."
They made preparations for their renewed journey. Wona donned reasonably
nonprovocative apparel, and Jes assumed her masculine form, complete with the
two bows and their arrows, and a club and dagger that showed. They would be
traveling through some hostile territory, and of course any territory could be
dangerous for a woman alone.
But the morning of their start, Wona felt bad. She was blinking and rubbing
her eyes. "Oh, no," Jes muttered.
Crockson took one experienced look. "The plague," he said, confirming it. "She
did not escape it."
"But I can't get the plague," Wona protested. "It will ruin my looks."
"Not if you are well cared for," Crockson said. "And you shall be. We'll put
you in the back room."
"But you have already taken much trouble to take care of me," Jes protested.
"I should care for her on my own."
"Making those dangerous trips alone? Leaving her alone? That won't be
practical or safe."
Jes knew it was so. So they put Wona in the back room, and began the siege of
her illness. Now Jes saw how it was from the perspective of the caregiver.
Sometimes when Wona felt awful, she did not look that bad, while at other

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times she looked far worse than she seemed to feel. Much of the time she was
unconscious or delirious, and sometimes she unknowingly said things she never
would have uttered when in control. Jes found some of them wickedly
fascinating. Wona had evidently had a lurid history before marrying Sam, and
she liked to make men react. Her sexuality was merely a tool she used to
achieve her objectives. Wona had explained that before, but her confidences of
delirium suggested how cynical the process was. Jes wished she herself had
such ability.
It also occurred to her that if Wona died, the family problem would be solved.
Feeling guilt for the thought, she did everything she could to ensure that the
woman survived.
The disease wended its course, and though Wona was extremely ill, it became
apparent that she was not suffering any permanent damage. She would recover
and be as lovely as before.
But after the stages of the illness passed, Wona remained quite weak. It took
her a long time to recover strength. "That is the way of it, with some,"
Crockson said. "They look well, but their resources are slight. It may be
months before she is back to normal."
"Months!" Jes exclaimed. "I have been away from home too long already!"
He shrugged. "Do you wish to remain at home all your life?"

That set her back. "Yes and no. Our family stays together. We try to marry
outside, and bring our spouses in to the family. So I want to bring a husband
in to the family."
"Then you should be looking for a man to bring in."
That was a difficult point. She knew her prospects in that respect were so
slight as to be not worth pursuing. "First I have to get Wona placed."
"But while she is recuperating she does not need constant attention. You could
go out to search for your own man."
She laughed bitterly. "What point? I am not man-finding material."
"I think you are. You simply haven't looked well enough."
"How should I look?"
"What do you most want to do or be, in your life?"
"A sailor. On a trieres. I love the ships. I love seeing new shores. I
love the water. But -- "
"But they don't take women. So sail as a man." She had a tacit understanding
with Crockson: neither betrayed the secret of the other, so she could change
identities at the shop. He would even check to make sure her details were
correct.
"I can fool most people when afoot and on my own, but how long could I
do it on a ship? The moment I had to urinate -- "
"You would do that on land. The ships put in to shore twice a day."
"Or swim -- "
"Few sailors swim. The water's too cold."
"Or when asleep, if my clothing should -- "
"Not if you garb yourself carefully."
"Or when there is contact with a man, as there sometimes is in close quarters.
There are so many ways -- "
"And if you are found out, what then? Will they execute you?"
"Rape me, more likely."
"In the presence of the captain or an officer? That seems unlikely."
"The captain would curse me and put me off the ship without my pay."
"And meanwhile, you will have had your adventure. And have met two hundred
healthy men, one of whom you might find worthwhile. And there will always be
another ship."
She reconsidered. "You make it sound possible."
"Possible, if dangerous," he agreed. "If your ship saw battle, you might be
killed or injured, and injury could betray your nature when they stripped you
for care. But maybe you would get through without discovery, if you were

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careful. If you prepared well."
"How could I prepare?"
"Go down to Piraeus and study the ships. Learn their ways. Then you will know
how to avoid mistakes, at such time as you board one."
She nodded. "That might be."
So on her next day off from work, with Wona resting comfortably, she assumed
her male guise and walked down to the port city. Now that the siege was gone,
most of the campers had departed and the road was clear. Traveling alone, she
was able to walk swiftly, getting good exercise. She was glad of it, because
she had not yet recovered her full strength either, and this should help.
The port city was in constant activity. There were ships coming in and
departing every day. Because it was war time, and the ships were on constant
patrol, some were damaged and were being repaired. She was even able to go
aboard one as it lay in dry dock, awaiting the attention of the overworked
repair crew. It was fascinating. She was able to step more than thirty paces
along its curving main deck. She saw the covered places for oarsmen, their
stools on three levels beside the holes for the great long oars. The highest
was actually a special kind of outrigger; the oarsmen on that file were called

thranitai. What phenomenal coordination was required to ensure that no oars
banged into each other! No one person would be able to see all the oarsmen at
once; there were a hundred and seventy of them, allayed along the length of
both sides of the ship. How did they coordinate? It was a detail that hadn't
occurred to her, before actually looking at this layout.
Then she heard someone coming, and quickly got off the ship. She didn't want
to answer any awkward questions.
When she returned, Crockson was grim. "Perikles has got the plague."
"But surely there are others to govern Athens," she said.
"Not the way he does. He is largely responsible for the building of the
Parthenon and other temples on the Acropolis. He pledged extra funds from the
treasury to the goddess Athene. He has been very good for the city."
"But isn't he as unscrupulous as any other politician?"
Crockson nodded. "Politics is not child's play. Thirteen years ago, when he
was facing vociferous criticism for his policies, such as the massive building
program, he used a device to eliminate his chief opponent."
"He had him killed?"
"Not physically. Politically. He arranged for an ostracism."
"A what?"
"The people meet in the Agora once a year and take a vote to determine if
anyone is becoming too powerful, and is in a position to establish a tyranny.
If a majority conclude that the danger exists, they meet again two months
later. This time each person brings an ostrakon, a potsherd, along, on which
he has scratched the name of the person he wishes to get rid of. The man with
the most votes gets ostracized, and is exiled for ten years. That time,
Perikles's opponent was exiled. He didn't deserve it; it was a political ploy.
But he had no choice; he had to go. So Perikles is not a man to fool with. But
that is exactly the kind of man we need in power today. Now that he is ill --
if he doesn't recover, Athens will be in bad trouble."
Jes appreciated his point. She hoped Perikles would recover.
Unfortunately that hope turned out to be vain; the man remained too weak to
get off his bed.
During other visits to the harbor, over the course of the fall and winter, Jes
learned a great deal about the ships. They looked massive, but were actually
very light. So light that they would not sink when rammed and holed; they
would merely bog down in the water, becoming too sluggish to be effective. So
nobody drowned when a ship went down, unless he got knocked into the water and
couldn't swim. That didn't mean that nobody died; if an enemy force caught a
ship, there could be a slaughter. So sea battles were dangerous for the same
reason land battles were. Of course each ship carried ten hoplites and four

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archers whose job was to see that no enemy overran the ship.
That might not be enough in a major battle, but probably sufficed for routine
missions, such as reconnaissance.
Four archers. Now there was something she could do. She had a good bow, and
good aim. Maybe she could sign on as a bowman, after demonstrating her
capability.
But then she found a better prospect. Each ship carried one pipeman.
That was the one who played the musical beat that enabled the rowers to
coordinate by ear. The pipeman sat amidships or toward the front, facing back
toward the captain's deck, taking his cue from the captain. The pipeman did
not have to be a great musician, she learned, but he had to have a strong
sound and a good sense of rhythm. And he had to understand the operation of
the ship, so as to give no miscues. The pipeman, almost as much as the
captain, was the heart of a well functioning ship.
Jes was no expert piper, but she had played a wooden flute at family
festivities and could remember a tune. In any event, she understood that the
tunes played for ships were quite crude, performed for the cadence rather than

for entertainment. They related to real music about the way a baby's cry did
to adult communication. She suspected that this was a job she could do.
She went back to the shop and told Crockson. "Now I believe you are right," he
said, pleased. "You have found a way. And I happen to have a flute, given me
by one of my lovers; I don't believe he would be offended if I lent it to
you."
"Oh, I can buy my own -- "
But he was already digging it out, and she couldn't refuse, though it turned
out to be a finely wrought instrument, surely of considerable value. He
clearly liked the idea of her playing it. So she accepted it, and began to
practice.
She was rusty, but soon enough she was getting it straight. They discovered
that the loom workers became more efficient when they heard the music, and
Wona was more alert. So periodically Jes played instead of working on her
loom, and the work went well. She perfected several tunes that she could play
with feeling and without hesitation. When she strayed beyond these, she became
less apt, so she knew her limits. But the familiar ones seemed to be good
enough for this group.
She continued to visit the shipyard and harbor, now listening as well as
looking. She learned that though the tunes of the pipemen were simple, there
were several different ones, and these were used to guide the oarsmen in
different maneuvers. One tune was for straight ahead; another for reverse;
others for turning, when the oarsmen on one side had to stroke more powerfully
than those on the other side. She practiced these tunes, closing her eyes and
imagining that she was playing on a ship as it forged through the water during
maneuvers. It was a wonderful feeling.
By the time Wona was well enough to travel it was winter. "It will be cold out
there," Crockson said to Wona. "Your prospects would better in spring, when
you can don light clothing and allow it to fall open."
"You have an eye for the ways of women," Wona replied without rancor.
"They are in some ways like the ways of young men." Jes would have preferred
to get moving, but they did owe Crockson money, though he never pressed them
for it, and the winter's work would go far to making it up.
Thus they passed the summer of Wona's slow recuperation, and the fall, and
winter, and Crockson's shop did prosper with the management and work Jes
accomplished. The surviving women returned, and were augmented by others, and
there was a good market for the cloth. Crockson was quite satisfied, and
actually Jes found herself satisfied too, because the shop was compatible. It
was Wona who wanted to get on with their quest for her man, after their year's
delay. However, she was resigned to the situation and, having nothing better
to do, did work reasonably well on the loom. Her endurance was not great, but

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that was also true for some of the other recovering victims of the plague.
They rested when they had to, and learned to work efficiently, and
accomplished about as much as the healthier but less attentive women. Jes
filled in for them during those rest periods, so that there was no actual
delay, and the women appreciated that. They liked Jes's style of management,
and this contributed to harmony. Crockson, assured that the shop was in order,
felt free to go out to make deals, instead of having to watch every worker
closely. It was a reasonably comfortable situation.
In the spring it was time for them to move on, before the Spartans besieged
the city again; they needed to get well clear of Athens and into neutral
territory, or at least some region where they could be anonymous. Wona dressed
for travel rather than sex appeal, but remained an appealing figure of a
woman. Jes dressed as a young man.
Crockson put on his formal robe to bid them farewell. He smiled, but he looked
sad. "I wish you the best health and success," he said.

Wona stepped into him. "Thank you for your kindness to us," she said, and
kissed him on the cheek.
Then Jes approached him. "Thank you for your generosity," she said --
and kissed him on the mouth.
Then they departed, leaving him stunned. They had rehearsed the little ritual,
and realized that it was the best way to handle it. The man would have a
memory of being kissed by what looked very much like a stripling youth. Jes
realized that if she impersonated a male, she could afford to impersonate him
in this manner also, considering the considerable assistance Crockson had been
to them. They were departing Athens in reasonable order; it might well have
been otherwise, had they worked for someone else.
They left by the Sacred Way, passing without challenge out through the main
gate to the west. They followed the road to the coast, where it fringed the
Bay of Eleusis. They spent the night in the city of Eleusis, renting a room
for the night. They had traveled barely half a normal day's hike, but were
being careful, because Wona was not yet up to full strength. It was better to
take easy hikes, building up gradually, so as not to risk a relapse of the
illness.
When Jes opened the bag of silver coins, in order to extract one to pay the
proprietor, she made a discovery that astonished her. She quickly masked her
reaction, but Wona caught it. "What's in that bag?" the woman demanded as soon
as they were alone.
Jes shook her head, bemused. "Gold." She opened that bag and poured out its
contents on the floor.
There were a number of silver coins, and three small gold coins. The three
were worth as much as three bags of silver would have been.
"That man really likes you," Wona breathed, awed.
"I had no idea," Jes said, half in chagrin. "I would never have accepted it,
if -- "
"That's why he gave you no hint."
"But he can't like me that well, because -- "
"I am more cynical than you in this respect," Wona said. "I have seen men, and
I think I understand them somewhat. Most desire women; some desire men; some
desire boys. I think those last bestride separate steeds, unable to accept one
or the other completely. So they seek partners of their own gender, that most
resemble the opposite gender. When those beardless boys become too much like
men, they lose their appeal and must move on. So the passion the elder men
feel for them is of limited duration, but perhaps more powerful for that. They
love without seeming limit, for those few years, and then love the next one
similarly. You are just across the line, being like a stripling male, but
female. You thus represent the ultimate in desirability: forbidden love.
You are clearly worthy, in form and nature. He wants so much to love you, and
tries to persuade himself he can love you, but he cannot. In guilt for this,

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he treats you even more generously than he would a true male youth. And your
tolerance for this he appreciates more than he can say in words. So he says it
in gold. This is the way of men who are truly smitten."
Jes was amazed, but recognized the likely validity of Wona's conjecture.
It made sense. "But still -- so much -- "
"You can do him no kinder favor than accepting it. By that token you indicate
that you accept him -- or would, were you able."
"I do accept him! As he is, though it is not the way I am."
"This is the way he wants it." Wona pondered a moment. "There may be one
advantage to this. You will never grow a beard. You will never become a man.
You will always be like a stripling boy. His dream boy. So his love for you
need never fade. It will endure well beyond the time when it would have faded,
were you a real male."
"I do not want to take any advantage of him!"

"Nor do you need to. Merely visit him on occasion, and be his friend."
Jes nodded, relieved by this solution. "That I can do."
They ate some of their food, and retired for the night. But it took Jes some
time to sleep. Before this excursion it had never occurred to her that she
could ever have a friendship of this nature, but now it seemed appropriate.
Crockson was a good man, merely different in one key respect. Her awareness of
that type of relationship would remain with her for the rest of her life.
Actually, she had never thought to have as close a relationship with a woman
like Wona, either. She now realized that the contempt in which she had held
Wona had been based largely on ignorance. The woman did have her points;
she was merely unsuited to the type of life the family offered. So Jes had
learned much about tolerance, and that was worthwhile.
The next day they crossed the mountains into Boeotia, which was hostile
territory. But this was between sieges, so the troops were not out; the two of
them should be taken for neutral travelers. They expected to cross it in two
days, at their present pace, barring problems.
The road they were on turned out to be ill-chosen; it followed a river into
the mountains and faded out. It took them some time to find a trail going
their way on the other side.
Then they encountered a group of people walking north. They were carrying
food, belongings, and wooden planks. What was going on?
So when they spied a solitary man, they inquired. "The Spartans are coming!"
he exclaimed.
"Already? But surely they will be attacking Athens."
"They are turning north, not south! We just got word. We are fleeing to
Plataea for protection."
Jes exchanged a glance with Wona. They had been planning to stop in
Plataea for food. The city was in Boeotia, but was an ally of Athens; it had
bad relations with the chief city of the region, Thebes.
They got off by themselves and discussed it. "If we go there, we may get
caught in another siege," Jes said.
"Normally I much prefer a room in the city to a stall in the country,"
Wona said. "But the last time I got caught in a city, I got the plague. We had
better stay well away from Plataea."
Jes agreed. "But where will we be safe from the invaders?"
"Maybe we can go to the water and get a ride on a ship."
"Sparta isn't helpless at sea, in this region. Corinth is her ally, and
Corinth has the second strongest fleet in Greece. And Corinth is right there
on the Gulf of Corinth."
"But there are Athenian allies along the gulf too, aren't there? We can try
for one of their ships."
Jes wasn't sure how feasible this would be, but it seemed to be their best
chance. So they traveled northwest, crosscountry, avoiding further contact
with other people. They wanted to disappear, so as not to fall prey to the

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ravaging forces of Sparta.
They had no trouble avoiding the Spartans; their main force had not yet
arrived. It had nevertheless been a close call; the women had assumed that
they would be well ahead of any such expedition.
They camped for the night in a deserted hay shed, keeping an ear alert for any
approach. The discipline they had practiced during their approach to
Athens the year before came readily back to mind.
So did other facets. "I need to practice with the club again," Wona said. "And
you should practice being a woman."
"I have been a woman for a year, weaving," Jes protested.
"That was drudgery, not femininity," Wona retorted. "There was no point

in trying to impress Crockson."
She had a point. Femininity was a talent worth cultivating, just in case
Jes ever had occasion to make use of it. Crockson was a good man, but no
amount of feminine wiles would impress him. Some other man, however --
So next day, as they resumed their careful trek to the sea, they practiced.
Jes made Wona a light club, and Wona critiqued Jes's walk and breathing. Jes
was in masculine garb, but as long as no one saw, she could still practice
swinging her hips. It helped allay what was a generally dull day, for they did
not encounter any Spartans.
The Gulf of Corinth was considered to be a long, narrow inlet into the heart
of Greece. But from its shore, it seemed an enormous expanse of water.
There were ships on it, too. But not Athenian. "Corinthian," Jes said.
"Enemy vessels."
"Does it make a difference? They have rich men too."
"Maybe it doesn't make a difference to you, but it would to them. They would
know you for Athenian, and despise you."
They proceeded along the north shore of the gulf, avoiding roads, because at
any time Spartans might appear on them. They foraged in deserted fields, and
slept in deserted houses. Until they got beyond the danger region, and area
life became normal. But it was normal Boeotian life, and Boeotia was allied
with Sparta, so they still couldn't risk discovery.
They passed through Locris, another Spartan ally. They avoided the city of
Delphi, though they would have liked to go to see the oracle there; they
probably lacked the price of such advice, and it was generally
incomprehensible anyway, but the experience might have been interesting. Then
they crossed into the territory of Phocis, an Athenian ally, and were finally
able to walk openly. Here the ships were Athenian, and not to be feared.
Indeed, when they saw a ship coming to shore for a meal stop, they stood at
the beach and waved to it encouragingly. It came in close, its oars in perfect
synchronicity, then swung about and faced away from the land. The oarsmen
reversed their stroke and propelled the craft backward to the beach, until it
slid partly out of the water and came to a stop. The hoplites and archers
jumped off, followed by the oarsmen. Half of them headed for the bushes.
Wona started to walk toward them. "Wait a moment," Jes cautioned her.
"They have full bladders."
Wona paused, then walked toward the ship, where the captain was the last to
disembark. Jes saw that she was using her siren walk. She had quietly
rearranged herself to accentuate attractive traits.
"Never mind," the captain called, laughing. "I promised my wife to stay clear
of incidental booty. But if you want to deal with any of the men -- "
Wona glanced meaningfully back at the bushes. "Too dirty for me. Do you give
rides on your ship?"
"Not while on duty. You would distract the oarsmen anyway, and start a fight
among the hoplites."
Jes nodded agreement. "My sister is looking for a husband," she said.
"We thought this might be a good region."
"Naupactus is," he said. "We're based there, this season, and there aren't

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enough beautiful women to go around."
"Thank you," Wona said, flashing him a brilliant smile.
"But one word of caution: there has been some plague there, brought by the
ships from Athens."
"We have had it," Jes said. "Now we are immune."
"Good for you. You have nothing to fear except the Spartans."
"Not as long as we have bold men like you protecting us," Wona said with
another smile.
He laughed again. "Get away from here, siren, before my wife regrets

it." He patted her on the bottom and moved out to join his crew.
"It is good to get in some practice," Wona murmured. "That is exactly the type
of man I would like to capture, but it's too public."
"Well, he's married."
"That, too. He would bed me, but not marry me; he gave me fair warning."
"I didn't hear him say that."
"Didn't you see him pat me? He's interested."
"Oh. I suppose I don't know all the signals."
"I am teaching them to you one by one, just as you are teaching me the use of
the knife and club. It is still a fair exchange, I think."
It probably was. Jes wasn't sure she would ever become proficient at such
social interaction, but she would learn what she could.
"As we depart, watch the eyes of the men we pass. A lift of both eyebrows
means they notice; a lift of one is asking me. I should be able to bring any
one to me."
"Any one -- and not the others?" Jes asked. "I don't see how -- "
"I will demonstrate. I will bring the third one we pass. Then you must cut in,
so I don't have to follow through."
Jes wasn't sure she liked this, but did not object, as she was curious to see
how much substance there was to the woman's claim.
The men were strung out as they returned from the bushes. Each raised both
brows, and then one. The first two passed on by, but the third one stopped. He
was an oarsman, with solidly muscled arms. "Hello, lady," he said to Wona.
"My sister is not to dally," Jes said quickly.
The man eyed Jes somewhat contemptuously. "So you say."
Wona made a moue. "My little brother guards me carefully, lest our father beat
him. I would not want that to happen. We must be on our way."
"As you prefer." The man moved on.
"Point made," Jes said when they were clear. She was impressed.
"There are surely similar signals when two men consider combat over a
nonessential matter."
"Yes. It is pointless to fight unless you really want to, and sometimes one
man can demonstrate ability that cautions the other. It never occurred to me
that men and women could fence similarly."
Wona tensed, and spoke without turning her head. "Oops. I did not signal this
one. You will have to back him off."
Indeed, a hoplite was forging toward them. He had muscle, weapons, and
swagger. "Haven't we met before?" he demanded of Wona.
"No," she said sharply.
"Well, then, we must remedy that forthwith."
"My sister is not to dally," Jes said.
The soldier ignored her. He reached for Wona's arm. She neatly drew it back,
clearly trying to discourage him.
Jes tapped her club. "I said -- "
Now the man glanced at her. He tapped his own club. "Depart, stripling, before
I give you reason."
He was too burly and experienced to handle with a club. So Jes went to the
next stage: a demonstration.
Her hand went for her dagger so swiftly that it was a blur. The point came up

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and the tip almost touched the man's nose. Now she had his full attention.
After the briefest pause, she flipped the knife into the air, and caught it
again by the hilt, before his nose.
"Maybe some other time," the man said, and moved on.
"I never saw you do that before," Wona said, impressed by herself.
"I never had to, before. I probably couldn't take him in a fair fight, and he
knew it, but I could have cut off his nose then, with the element of

surprise, so he knew it was merely a warning. He returned a warrior's courtesy
by leaving the field to me. But if I had cut him, even slightly, or if any of
his companions had seen, we would have had to fight."
"I'm not sure he would have taken you," Wona said. "I have seen you kill."
"There is a difference between battlefield conditions and a formal encounter.
I would have had to meet him formally, or a bowman would have shot me.
Soldiers don't like ambushes. "
"What bowman?"
"That one." Jes indicated a man standing by a tree. As she did so, and
Wona looked, the man waved.
"Then someone did see the encounter!"
"Not a companion. Bowmen and hoplites belong to separate clans, socially.
Anyway, the bowman was behind the hoplite, so wasn't visible to him."
"But you saw him. Why didn't he call to the hoplite?"
"Professional courtesy. I carry a bow."
"Which you do know how to use." Wona took a deep breath. "Let's get out of
here."
"Gladly." But just as Wona had liked demonstrating her abilities, Jes had
rather liked demonstrating hers. There was indeed a camaraderie of arms, and
it did facilitate things when armed strangers met. She appreciated the way the
bowman had given her the chance to settle her quarrel on her own. He had
accepted her, in a way that counted, though they were strangers.
They made their way without further significant event to Naupactus, which
turned out to be a small but vigorous city. It had been settled by
Messenians, implacable enemies of Sparta who had been exiled from their
homeland by Sparta.
They sought an apartment close to the harbor, because Wona wanted the best
chance to meet any and all officers. They were able to get one close to an inn
that served the personnel of the ships. There seemed to be a high turnover in
both workers and clients, because this was a war zone, and Wona was able to
get a job as a serving wench: exactly what she wanted.
"But won't they pinch your rear and make lewd remarks?" Jes asked.
"And give me silver if they like me enough," Wona said. "It's a fine way to
meet people, and the gossip will be first rate. In a few days I'll know
exactly who among the captains is married and who single, and will be able to
chart my course."
"But what do I do while you're doing that?"
Wona considered. "We're not destitute, thanks to Crockson's generosity to you,
but we can always use money. This is your opportunity as much as mine:
get a position on a ship. I don't have to have you constantly at my side, now
that I have a good residence and position. If things work well for me, you
will soon be free to go home."
"I would like nothing better than to be aboard a trieres," Jes agreed.
"Even if only for a few days. If you don't think I'm running away -- "
"Jes," Wona said seriously. "You have so much honor it's spreading to me. I am
a better person than I have been, because of you. I have no concern about your
running away. Just don't get yourself killed!"
Jes was so flattered that she was in danger of blushing. "I'll try not to."
So Jes went down to the harbor each day to inquire whether any ship was in
need of a piper.
"I need an oarsman," one officer told her. "But I doubt you have the heft for

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that."
"True. I have rowed all my life, but only in small craft. I'm not muscular."

"That will come with time," he said. "You're not yet grown."
This was typical. Each ship needed 170 oarsmen and only one piper, so her
chances were small. But there were twenty ships here, so one might be able to
use her.
On the third day Wona's gossip mill bore fruit. "There's a ship with a
bachelor captain -- and it's in need of a piper!" she exclaimed. "You can hire
aboard, and introduce me to the captain."
"But that isn't the way it's done," Jes protested. "Captains don't socialize
with the men."
"Then make it a business deal: you'll be his piper if he dates me. Play your
pipe for him; he'll want you."
"And if you play your body for him, he'll want you," Jes echoed. "Maybe it
will work."
"This is our best chance yet; it has to work." Then Wona frowned.
"Though it does seem almost too easy. Do you think it could be a setup?"
"I don't understand."
"We met that captain before, and now we have been talking with many people.
Word of us will have gotten around, just as we pick up word of others.
Maybe someone wants to bed me, so he says he's single. Men do that all the
time. A captain of a trieres is a wealthy citizen, by definition, so has had
ample opportunity to marry. By the time I verify his status, he will have had
what he wants from me."
"But the pipeman position -- what about that?"
"That's probably legitimate. The word is that the plague took out several
crewmen, and there may be a battle soon, so he can't wait for them to recover.
But he knows he can hire you; it's me he can't have for hire. So that's what
he charges."
"Charges?"
"A job for you -- if I let him into my skirt. I'm paying for you."
She could be right, Jes realized. "I can look for some other ship."
"No, take the job. Maybe then you can find out whether he is really single.
Then introduce him to me -- as we thought before."
On reconsideration, this did seem best. "Very well."
Jes located the ship and approached the trierarch, or sea captain, a
weathered, burly man. "I hear you are in need of a pipeman."
The captain squinted appraisingly at her. "One drachma a day, half payable as
earned, remainder in Piraeus. Bonus when we see action, if warranted, and a
share of whatever plunder. Paid to your father if you die on duty." This was
his acknowledgment of Jes's youth.
And nothing said about getting into anyone's skirt. This seemed legitimate.
"It will do. Do you want to hear me play?"
"I have a practice run this afternoon, to try out new oarsmen. You will play
then."
"I will be there."
The captain nodded. "I am Ittai, of Athens."
"I am Jes, of Euboea."
Ittai walked away. Their business was concluded, for now. Jes was impressed;
the man wasn't much to look at, but he spoke to the point. He surely ran a
no-nonsense ship. That was the best kind.
She returned to the apartment, then went to the dining hall where Wona worked.
"I play this afternoon, tryout," she said as Wona came to bring her bread and
wine. "Trierarch Ittai is gruff but competent. He said nothing about skirts. I
think he doesn't know I have a sister."
"He surely does know. I like him already. But make sure you get the word on
his marital state."
Jes brought the flute Crockson had given her to the ship. Captain Ittai

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spotted her immediately. "Jes! Report to the helmsman." He turned away,

attending to other business. He had the facility, useful in a leader, for
recognizing a person in a group, and remembering the name. Jes was further
impressed.
The helmsman was easy to spot by his bright robe of command. All the oarsmen
had to see the helmsman, who ranked next below the captain, and the boatswain,
who implemented his orders. Jes would take her signals from either man, but
probably the boatswain unless the helmsman stepped in directly. How well she
responded, and how well she played, would determine her future with this crew.
She brought out the flute and held it before her as she approached the busy
officer. He was directing new oarsmen to their seats, but oriented on her
immediately. "You are of course familiar with the essential tunes?"
"Yes. But I need to know the signals for them."
His eyes narrowed slightly, but he demonstrated the signals for each one, and
she fixed them in her mind. She had not anticipated this awkwardness;
of course an experienced pipeman would know the signals. "The boatswain will
indicate the cadence, so," he continued briskly, making a circular gesture in
the air with one forefinger. "Pick it up and keep it until he changes it This
means accelerate it." He elevated one palm slowly. "And diminish it." His hand
turned over and moved slowly down. "During distance travel at constant
velocity, the melody can be your own, but vary it occasionally so the grunts
don't get bored. Take your place."
He assumed that she knew where her place was, as any experienced pipeman
would. Fortunately she did. She walked the gangplank to the gangway along the
center of the ship, and made her way to the main mast. There was a built-in
stool just behind it. She sat on this and rested.
Her heart was pounding. She was actually on a trieres, as a crewman! She knew
what to do, but the reality of actually doing it was fantastic. She gazed at
the backs of the oarsmen, sitting at three levels. Those on the lowest tier of
oars were farthest into the center of the ship, and those on the highest tier
were almost against the hull. They were fitting in so close together that they
almost touched, but each had free play for his oar.
The ten hoplites boarded together. Each was well armed with knives and spears,
and all looked tough. They were, of course, the most privileged class aboard,
aside from the officers. They spread out along the length of the gangway,
glowering at the oarsmen and sailors. They were there to protect the ship --
and not just from external enemies. Any oarsman who got rebellious would find
himself skewered.
The commander of this guard took a central position, which meant he stood
close to Jes. He looked down at her and grimaced. It was clear that he did not
like her. That made her nervous, because he was a large, powerful, and
possibly dull man.
When all the oarsmen were seated, the seamen hoisted the two sails and took
the ship out to deep water. Sails were normally used when there was no hurry,
and evidently the captain did not want to risk a foul-up in the harbor.
So he was taking the ship out to where he had some privacy, to work out the
kinks. Once the new crew members were functioning properly, he would take it
under power back into the harbor.
Sure enough, when they were well clear of the harbor, the helmsman strode to
the center of the ship, right near Jes. He raised his hand so that both the
bow officer and the boatswain could see it. Then he brought it down.
The boatswain made a loop with his hand. Jes started playing the Prepare
melody on her flute, as loudly as she could without distorting the notes. It
was not the strong beat of traveling, just a preliminary. The oarsmen could
not see the boatswain well, but they could all hear the music. They unhooked
their oars and lowered them to the water.
Then, in time to the beat of the boatswain's fist, Jes went into the

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Forward rowing beat. "Go!" the boatswain yelled, and the oarsmen pulled
together. Now it was her flute that governed them; she suspected that many had
their eyes closed, depending on it alone.
The ship moved forward, which meant in the direction of the backs of the
oarsmen, and Jes's back too. It was not their business to see where they were
going, but to propel the ship as efficiently as possible.
The helmsman let them row for a while, as he walked up and down the central
gangway, looking at individual oars. "Pick it up!" he snapped at one whose oar
was lagging a trifle. "Shorten your stroke!" at another.
The boatswain lifted his palm, slowly. Jes accelerated the cadence, slowly.
She continued her slow increase until the boatswain put his hand out again,
level. Then she leveled it at that pace.
The boatswain lifted his hand, not in a signal, but in a warning of a coming
signal. He made sure he had Jes's eye. Then, suddenly, he rammed his fist
down.
She played extra loud, slowing the beat precipitously. The oarsmen followed.
The commander of the hoplites turned to sneer at her. What was the matter?
The helmsman was right beside her. "Wrong," he said, calmly. "That was a
'Dead Halt' signal he gave you. Try it again."
Oops. She had indeed misunderstood.
They got the ship moving rapidly forward again, while the helmsman cautioned
individual oarsmen on their errors. Then the boatswain gave her the warning,
and the dead halt. This time she blew a single loud note and stopped.
The oars froze in place, rapidly braking the ship.
The cadence resumed, slower than before. Then there was another maneuver.
"Starboard," the boatswain shouted. "Double cadence!" And he signaled Jes with
a short, sharp jerk of the hand.
This time she wasn't sure what to do. She hesitated, while still playing.
Again the hoplite commander grimaced, as if in the presence of an utter fool.
"Mark and keep the beat," the helmsman murmured.
She played one beat loud and high, and kept the existing beat. At that, the
oarsmen to her left, the ship's right, suddenly increased their pace, while
those on the other side maintained theirs. The ship swerved. They were making
a turn.
She saw the helmsman signal the boatswain. "Port -- half cadence reverse!" Now
he was describing the orders, instead of depending on Jes to play the right
tune. The helmsman was standing right by her, murmuring instructions. That was
not the best sign. They had all too quickly caught on to her inexperience.
The boatswain gave Jes the Mark gesture. This time she was on it immediately,
playing her pipe loud and low, following with the correct tune.
The oarsmen to her right abruptly lifted and reversed their oars, stroking
backward.
The ship, propelled at double speed forward on its right, and half speed
backward on its left, fairly whirled around, turning almost in place.
The boatswain brought his fist sharply down. Jes played a loud note and
stopped. The oars stopped in place, dragging against the water, and the ship
halted its turn.
The helmsman nodded with satisfaction. The maneuvers were falling into place.
He walked away, to her immense relief, because that meant he did not expect to
have to instruct her further. She had more than enough black marks already.
They practiced for the rest of the afternoon. Jes made other mistakes, and
each time she did was rewarded with a glare from the hoplite commander, but
made sure never to repeat one. She was gaining confidence. She could

handle this job.
At last they stroked back to port. The men were given leave to disembark, but
the helmsman spoke briefly to Jes. "Wait." So she waited, hoping she was not
in trouble. She had made several mistakes, but surely they allowed for that,

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on the first day out. She hoped. She watched the men file past the ship's
purser, who gave each a small coin: the day's half-pay.
After a time the captain came down. "I am told you lack experience, but play
well." Actually he had heard her himself, but was going through channels,
taking the helmsman's report.
"I missed several signals, sir," she confessed, embarrassed. Was he going to
fire her?
"You have an excellent sense of the ship. Have you had other experience?"
"None on a trieres. I have rowed my own little boat all my life. I like the
sea."
"That explains it," Ittai said. "Your position is confirmed. Go to the
purser."
Relief flooded through her. She had not realized how worried she had been,
until that acceptance came. "Thank you, sir."
"I feared I would have to settle for incompetence," he said gruffly. "In that
I was disappointed." He walked away.
She got up and went to where the purser sat. He glanced up at her. "Name and
post?" Of course he already knew her post, but was also following the forms.
That was the way of a well run ship.
"Jes. Pipeman."
He handed her three silver coins.
She looked at them, startled. "This is too much! I was told half a drachma."
He checked his list. "That is the correct amount. One drachma. None is held
back pending completion of the tour, because you have joined it halfway along.
Plus two obols, for maintenance of your equipment. You are not actually being
paid more." Then he smiled, briefly, becoming human. "But you evidently have
the trierarch's favor, if not the hoplite's. You piped well."
"But I made mistakes!"
"Perhaps he expects you to live up to his expectation."
"I -- I will try." She was amazed by this development. The fact that they were
paying her full wage now meant that they had no hold on her; she could leave
at any time without penalty. So though the pay was standard, this was indeed a
sign of the captain's favor.
Back at the apartment, she told Wona about it. The woman nodded. "I told you
that your playing would impress him. You are good, Jes -- very good. You must
have made the crew row unusually well."
"It did seem good. But the oarsmen are experienced. I assumed -- "
"Did you find out his marital status?"
"No. I hardly talked to him."
"Well, I did. He is single. His wife died in the plague. I think this tour
with the ship is a relief for him, because he doesn't have to face his empty
home. I want an introduction."
"I will try," Jes said.
The next day was more practice. This was mostly, Jes suspected, to build the
oarsmen up so they could row all day, and sustain speed in battle conditions.
Today, too, the full crew was aboard, including the ten hoplites and four
archers. The hoplites were ranged along the gangway, sitting on anchored
stools, staying very still, because any movement could disturb the equilibrium
of the craft and interfere with the efficiency of the oars. They were there to
defend the ship from enemy boarding, and to fight on land when the ship was
beached, but Jes suspected that they had a secondary purpose: to

maintain discipline among the oarsmen. If any oarsman seemed inclined to
protest anything, a sharp glance by a hoplite served to quell the notion. The
four archers were grouped at the stern around the trierarch and helmsman, and
would be bodyguards for them during combat. The seamen were completely idle
while the ship was being rowed, but when the lunch break came, they sprang to
their positions at bow and stern, hauling on the lines that anchored the
foresail and mainsail. It was clear that a good wind could take the ship any

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distance, but for battle that was not feasible, because the ship needed to
move rapidly in any direction.
"Ho!" an oarsman cried during the afternoon session.
The nearest hoplite scowled in his direction. "What?"
"There's a leak on my foot."
The hoplite caught the eye of the helmsman. "Leak," he called, pointing.
The helmsman signaled the boatswain, who signaled Jes: glide to a halt.
She slowed her beat until the boatswain gave her the complete Halt signal. The
oars lifted from the water, and the ship drifted.
Now the shipwright appeared from belowdecks and made his way to the indicated
spot. Sure enough, a jet of water was coming in. The commander of the hoplites
grimaced steadily in Jes's direction, as if blaming her for this mishap. Why
did he hate her so? But the shipwright quickly pegged and tarred the leak, and
bailed out a few buckets of bilge-water. The ship was reasonably tight again.
At the end of the day, Jes dallied after the men had been paid, nerving
herself for what she had to do. Captain Ittai spied her. "You have a problem,
piper?"
"No, sir." She took a breath. "May I speak candidly, sir." It was a request,
not a question.
"You may."
"My attractive sister would like to meet you."
He laughed. "Now why would you have to speak for her?"
"She asked me to. She is seeking -- "
"Clear enough. But at the moment I am not looking for female company."
"I will tell her, sir." Jes turned away, embarrassed.
"Hold, piper." She turned back. "Are you comfortable with this?"
"I would rather never to have brought it up," she said, striving not to blush.
"I apologize."
"So I thought. But you had to do what you were told to do. It occurs to me
that I was perhaps hasty. My wife is never going to return, and my nights are
lonely. Take me to your sister."
Jes tried to control her surprise. "As you wish, sir."
"About the hoplite commander," he said. "His name is Kettle, the son of
Pot, a repatriated slave. He is not the brightest of men, but he makes up for
it by the ferocity of his combat and his loyalty to those he respects. The
prior pipeman, taken by the plague, was his friend. He resents any
replacement."
Oh. That explained that aspect. "I will try to do well enough to please him,
in time."
"Only your abject failure would please him. But he is a good man, and
dedicated to the welfare of the ship. He knows there must be a pipeman. You
need have no fear of him."
"What about away from the ship?" she asked nervously.
He shook his head. "Then stay away from him. He will not come after you, but
it would not be wise to provoke him."
They walked to the hall where Wona served. "She works here," Jes explained. "I
can tell her -- "
"No. I am hungry anyway. We shall eat."
"Sir?"

"You and me and your sister."
"Yes, sir," Jes agreed faintly. She was not at all comfortable with this
developing situation. For one thing, she really liked her position as piper,
and didn't want to risk forfeiting it because of some social complication. The
trierarch was clearly accustomed to being obeyed by those he encountered, and
Wona did not necessarily respond well to such imperatives. Sparks could fly --
and Jes could be caught in the middle.
They took a table. Wona soon came over. She gave no sign that she knew
Jes. "Your best wine and bread, for three," Captain Ittai said, proffering a

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silver coin.
Wona flashed a smile at him. "Immediately."
"You will join us."
"Oh, I am not allowed to -- "
"This is Captain Ittai," Jes said quickly.
Wona, startled, nodded. She must have mistaken him for a lesser officer, not
expecting so high a personage to walk right into her hands. She would get
permission from the proprietor, who surely did not have many trierarchs as
patrons.
"She is attractive," Ittai agreed, watching the swing of Wona's hips as she
departed.
Jes felt awkward. "There is no need for me to remain -- "
"Stay. I have not been with a woman in some time. I am not adept at trifling
dialogue. When it lags, you provide it."
Worse yet. "Yes, sir." Her tension did not ease.
Wona returned with an excellent meal. "I thank you, captain," she said,
flashing him a smile as she took the third seat. "I have wanted to meet you."
"So your brother informed me."
Things progressed rapidly, as Wona utilized her considerable array of charms.
Jes did not need to attempt to fill in dialogue; Wona kept it going without
seeming difficulty. When the good meal was done, the captain invited
Wona to spend the evening at his residence, and she accepted. They departed
together, leaving Jes to finish off what remained of the bread, which she was
glad to do. It was good to eat really well, for once.
So it had been a success, after all. Wona had finally found a suitable man,
and she would make sure he did not escape. But Jes's feelings were mixed.
Because while she was glad to see the near end of her long mission, she was
not easy about inflicting a woman like Wona on the captain, who seemed to be a
decent man. Yet maybe it would be all right, because Ittai had the wealth to
afford a woman like that, and would not expect her to do manual labor. If she
had children by him, there would be servants to care for them. Wona was a bad
deal only for a poor man. In any event, the trierarch was surely capable of
making up his own mind.
She consumed the last crumb, pleasantly full for the first time in several
days, and went back to the apartment. She still had most of Crockson's largess
remaining in her hidden purse-bag, but she was hoarding that for a time of
real need. She was existing for the moment mostly on scraps Wona brought back
from the inn.
She lay on her pallet and slept. Her sleep was undisturbed; Wona did not
return to the apartment in the night.
The next day the activity on the ship was normal. They continued to practice
maneuvers, becoming ever faster and sharper. The helmsman nodded with
satisfaction as the ship became a finely functioning unit.
At the end of the day, the trierarch approached Jes. "It was a good
introduction." He turned away.
Later, back at the apartment, Wona echoed the sentiment. "I believe he is the
one. He is wealthy, mannered, undemanding, and in a few months his term of
service will end and he will retire to a rich estate. What more could a

woman want?"
"Love?" Jes asked.
Wona laughed. "Maybe eventually. A man has to earn my love."
"How does he do that?"
"By treating me the way I like, for several years. It is not smart to sell
love cheaply."
Jes didn't argue, but she winced internally. She would have liked to have love
on any terms, and wealth hardly mattered. Captain Ittai was a good man, and
Wona was using him. It didn't seem fair. But it was not her place to object.
She had, after all, introduced them.

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She thought of Sam, who had been similarly used. Did Ittai have a sister? A
little brother? Would they suffer?
She put such thoughts from her mind and focused on the training at the ship.
She liked being its pipeman, and she liked being part of a smoothly
functioning crew. The men treated her courteously despite considering her a
stripling, because she was doing the job well. They accepted her, and that was
worth a great deal. When they participated in coordinated maneuvers with the
other ships of the fleet, their ship often was assigned the lead position, and
she knew that was because it was among the fastest and surest. And that was
because the oarsmen were responding well to her piping.
She didn't even mind spending many nights alone. She had lost her earlier
dislike of Wona, after the woman cared for her well during the plague, and
they had taught each other some worthwhile things, but the memories of Sam and
Ned remained. She could survive quite well without the woman's company.
"He is a real catch," Wona remarked on one of the nights she was home.
"He is a good man," Jes said.
"That, too." Wona glanced at her. "He likes your piping."
Jes nodded. At least it seemed that her job was not in peril. But she remained
uneasy about the relationship of the two. Wona could bring such grief to a
good man.
"Something's up," Wona said another evening. "There is going to be a battle.
The gossip is rife."
Jes discovered that the fear she had expected to feel at such news was
lacking. "We have a good ship, a good crew, and a good fleet. We are ready for
battle."
"They have fifty ships."
Jes stared at her. "Fifty?" There were only twenty ships in Phormio's fleet.
"From Corinth, stroking this way. Most are troopships. They are going to
Acarnania."
Troopships. That was better. They would be heavily laden, and sluggish in the
water. No match for the Athenian vessels in speed or maneuverability.
But if contact was made between the ships, those troops would overrun the
scant troops on the Athenian side. This was dangerous.
The next day Captain Ittai assembled the crew and confirmed the news.
"The Corinthians are attempting to sneak past our blockade of the gulf," he
announced. "They have forty-two troopships and five fast ships. We have to
stop them. We shall do so."
"Yes!" the members of the crew agreed. But their enthusiasm was tempered by
realism. They were overmatched, and this was likely to be a grueling campaign,
with substantial losses.
They set out eastward, toward the mouth of the gulf. The masts of the enemy
fleet were visible by the southern shore. The enemy was proceeding in plain
sight by daylight, seemingly contemptuous of the lesser Athenian fleet.
They knew that if Phormio tried to engage them near the south shore, the
maneuverability of his fleet would be limited, and any ships that were
disabled would be subject to attack by Spartan forces on that shore. Only in

the open sea, far from land, could the Athenians make their superiority in
fast ships count. The Corinthians were not giving them that chance.
All day they paced the slow enemy fleet, staying north, but not engaging. In
the afternoon the Corinthians passed the narrowest section, alert for attack,
but Phormio did not attack. Was he letting them get away?
By nightfall the Corinthians landed at their harbor at Patrai, where it was
not possible to attack them. The Athenian fleet landed on the north shore and
bivouacked. This would have been a problem for Jes, because she could not
urinate in the bushes in the way of a man. But it was dusk, and she was able
to lose herself in the shadows for the necessary time.
Supplies arrived from Naupactus: food, bedding, even a hardy corps of
prostitutes. Jes was relieved to see that Wona was not among them. This was

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too much like a final fling before execution.
They ate well, and sang some rousing songs. But Jes knew that it would take
more than such encouragement to prevail on the morrow, when they would have to
fight -- or suffer the shame of letting the Corinthians have their way.
Jes had learned, from the attitude of the crewmen and the gossip Wona culled,
that Phormio was considered to be the smartest admiral Athens had. The ships
of Athens were generally conceded to be the fastest and best-managed in
Greece. But there were limits. Twenty against forty-seven? Expertise could not
make up for lack of power. The Corinthian admiral was surely no fool. If he
maintained a tight formation, how could anyone stop it from going where it
wished? The main Athenian technique was ramming; when a ship jammed into
another ship from the side, the ram would puncture and disable it. But if one
Athenian rammed one Corinthian ship, the men of a second Corinthian ship would
grapple, board, and destroy the Athenian ship before it could pull free of the
wreckage. So even with a perfect score, they could take out only twenty enemy
ships -- while losing all of their own.
It was time to sleep. Jes headed with her blanket for a suitable spot, then
spied Kettle, the hoplite commander, there, and quickly changed course.
But he saw her, and sneered before turning disdainfully away.
It was one gesture too many. Jes was tired and her temper was worn. So she did
something foolish. She changed course again, and went to lay her blanket down
near the man.
He stared darkly at her. She stared back. "Have you something to say, Hoplite
Kettle?" she inquired.
He reached for his spear. But before his hand could grasp it, she had her
knife out and cocked, ready to throw.
His jaw dropped. "You threaten me, stripling?"
"I merely suggest that I intend to sleep in peace, sir." He was not in her
chain of command, but he was an officer, so she gave him that token courtesy
of recognition.
Kettle lifted the spear. He was sitting on the ground, but could throw it hard
and accurately from that position.
She refused, again, to be intimidated, though she was distinctly nervous. She
had to make her stand now, or forever be wary of him. "If you will hold up
your shield, sir, I will show you my aim."
He made a sound of contempt, and lifted his shield part way.
She hurled the knife into its center, hard.
Kettle looked. It was clear that she could as readily have put the knife into
his face. She had given fair warning that she was not to be held in contempt.
He laughed and jerked it out, flipping it back to her hilt-first.
"Sleep in peace, pipeman." He lay down and closed his eyes, not at all
concerned.
It was a small and dangerous victory, but perhaps she had won a modicum of
respect. At least he had addressed her by her title.

The trierarch was going among the men of his crew as they settled for the
night, talking briefly with each before moving on. He came to Jes. "Bed down
now," he said. "We may be roused early, and must be ready."
"Yes sir," she agreed uncomfortably.
"You have doubts?"
"I fear for our success."
He squatted beside her. "Jes, do you question my competence?"
"Oh, no sir! I didn't mean -- "
"At ease; the question is rhetorical. Of course I am competent in my position,
as you are in yours. I will perform well tomorrow, and so will you.
Admiral Phormio is not merely competent; he is a genius as a strategist. If it
is possible to destroy the enemy fleet, he will enable us to do it."
"But is it possible, sir?"
"Not only possible but probable. We are bound to take some losses, but theirs

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will be far heavier. Have faith in that."
"I will try, sir."
He leaned close. "Jes, I know the admiral's strategy. It is brilliant and
feasible. All we need is discipline and performance in our crews. I have faith
in both the strategy and the crews. I ask you to accept my word: we have
victory within our means. Do you accept that?"
Somehow she had to believe. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
"Welcome." He tousled her short hair and stood. He glanced at Kettle.
"Good to see you guarding my piper, commander. I will stand in great need of
both of you, tomorrow."
The hoplite nodded noncommittally.
And now Jes did believe. The situation made no more sense than before, but
Captain Ittai had made her confident that their fleet had the advantage.
Somehow his confidence and his touch of camaraderie had transferred his faith
to her. He had transformed her fear into assurance.
She knew that he was doing the same for every other crewman.
Intellectually she remained in doubt about the outcome of the coming
engagement, but she no longer feared it, and she was now quite sure of the
leadership of their ship. Captain Ittai was quite a man.
One thing still bothered her, though. Her brother Sam was quite a man too --
and Wona had made a fool of him. How great was Jes's guilt for bringing
Wona to the trierarch?
So even if the Athenian fleet was completely victorious, with no losses, what
mischief lay ahead?
A hand tapped her shoulder. "Pipeman." It was Kettle, but this time he didn't
sound angry. He could have dropped a clod of dirt on her face, by
"accident," but hadn't; he had his own honor. If he ever attacked her, it
would be with the same fair warning she had given him. "Up, pipeman. Clear
your bladder and go immediately to your post."
It was still dark. She did as directed. All around her she heard others doing
the same.
The helmsman checked the roster. The ship slid into the water. Other ships
were moving similarly. "Faint pipe," the helmsman said. Jes played just loud
enough to be heard in the hush. She knew her music was vital, because the
oarsmen could not see the boatswain in the darkness. Neither could she, but
the helmsman was directing his orders to her. As dawn came, the full fleet was
rowing almost silently out to sea.
And there, in the middle of the channel, was the Corinthian fleet. It had been
trying to sneak past without notice. Admiral Phormio had anticipated that
ploy, and acted to catch the enemy ships away from the shore, in open water.
That was where he wanted them, Jes knew.
But that fleet was still more than twice the size of this one, and

packed with fighting men. What strategy could prevail against it?
Yet as the two fleets closed on each other, it was the enemy who blinked. The
Corinthians formed their ships into a large circle, their bows pointing
outward. The smaller supporting vessels and merchantmen, which weren't counted
as part of the fighting fleet, were sheltered within that circle. But also
there, oddly, were the five fast ships -- the only ones that might match the
Athenian craft in speed.
Then she remembered her history: a formation like that had been used
successfully against the overconfident and surprised Persians at Salamis. The
fast ships would rush to support the outer circle wherever it was attacked, so
that it would not be breached. They would have only a short distance to go,
and would be almost instantly in play. So this made maximum use of them. It
was a good formation. If the Athenians tried to envelop the circle, in the
standard tactic of periplous, the vulnerable beams of their ships would be
exposed to a sudden outward rush by the Corinthian rams. That could virtually
destroy the Athenian fleet in one move.

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So what could be done? The enemy position seemed impregnable to attack by even
a much larger fleet. What was the source of Captain Ittai's confidence in
victory? Jes played her pipe, automatically following the directives of the
boatswain, while her mind struggled with the mystery. Were they simply going
to try to hold the Corinthians in place indefinitely, so they could not get
where they were going? That didn't seem feasible; the enemy should be able to
wait as long as the Athenians could.
The Athenian fleet formed into a single line, and circled the enemy formation
at a distance. The Athenian ships were too far out for a sudden thrust to be
effective; by the time an enemy ship got there, the Athenian ships would have
changed position, and the Corinthian formation would be broken.
The enemy admiral was too smart to fall for that. He kept his ships in place,
not only pointing outward, but making constant adjustments so as to orient on
the closest Athenian ships. The Athenians would have to approach to have
effect, and then they would be vulnerable to the outward rush. This was like
circling an angry bear: its swift paws would strike when anyone came within
range.
The Athenians did not approach. Instead they circled continually around the
Corinthian formation. It seemed to be an impasse.
Then Jes realized that the circling wasn't static. With each pass, the
Athenian fleet was slightly closer. The approach was so gradual that there was
no point at which the Corinthians could act to resist an attack, but an attack
seemed constantly imminent. So the enemy oarsmen had to keep stroking and
backing, staying clear of their neighbors without allowing a gap to open in
their defensive ring, aiming outward.
As the Athenian ring tightened, individual ships would change course slightly,
as if about to turn inward for a thrust. The enemy ships oriented on them,
ready to counter. But no thrust was made. The Corinthians were clearly
becoming uncomfortable. This was becoming a war of nerves.
The helmsman walked along the gangway, speaking to the oarsmen in a low tone.
When he came close to Jes, she overheard his message: "Maintain present
cadence. Do not respond to the piping. Wait for my signal. Ignore the piping."
Then he turned to Jes. "Play the full repertoire, loudly, until I signal
Stop."
She abruptly went into the Turn melody, loudly. They were now close enough to
the enemy formation so that the nearest ships could hear the music.
They knew its meaning. They thought the attack was starting. One ship started
to move forward, before countermanding. Then it had to reverse and recover its
position. But others were out of position, and there was almost a jostling of
oars before they got it straight. There was a low chuckle among the Athenian

oarsmen. They liked the joke.
Jes realized that the Corinthian oarsmen lacked the skill to maintain such a
difficult formation for long. They were being cruelly teased. But still, even
a ragged formation was more than the Athenians could safely penetrate. So all
this was doing was making the enemy angry. Something more was needed.
The helmsman signaled Jes to silence, and walked the gangway again.
"Resume honoring the pipe," he told the oarsmen. "The joke is over." He made
sure they understood before moving on. Then he signaled Jes to play the normal
Forward tune. They continued in their line, circling the enemy formation.
The wind freshened, as it normally did at dawn. And suddenly Phormio's
strategy became clear. The Athenian vessels had no problem, being under oar
and with room to maneuver. But the Corinthian ships were in a compact
formation, pointing in every direction; they could not turn to ride with the
wind. They were getting blown out of formation, or sideways into each other.
The deckhands had to use poles to push them apart. As the wind continued to
gain strength, this got worse. They tried to take evasive action to avoid
their neighbor ships, but there was nowhere to go. Seamen and oarsmen were
shouting at each other, and soon cursing each other. They were no longer

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listening to the words of command, or to the boatswains. The oarsmen, not well
trained, could not recover their stroke in the increasingly choppy water. The
helms became unresponsive.
Now, at the worst possible moment for the enemy, Admiral Phormio gave the
signal to attack. Jes saw him waving his flag on the flagship, and saw
Captain Ittai acknowledge. Then Ittai turned and spoke to the helmsman. Now
was the time.
The boatswain gave Jes the Turn signal. She went into the melody, and the ship
swung sharply around. Almost simultaneously, all the other ships of the fleet
did the same. Like ferocious birds of prey, they swooped in.
The enemy ships were helpless. Their flagship was caught broadside, unable to
turn in time, and Jes heard the crash as it was rammed. Her own ship did not
catch one in ramming position, but did manage to sheer off a row of oars. The
Corinthians were in utter confusion, not even trying to fight.
There was a brief period of intermeshing. The oarsmen kept rowing vigorously,
while the hoplites stood and hurled their spears at the enemy craft. Some even
threw from a seated position, surprising her with their power and accuracy.
Then the Athenian ships passed each other in the center and moved on out to
clear water. They turned, ready for additional ramming runs.
But the Corinthians were already reorganizing, in their fashion: to flee back
to Patrai. Not one ship tried to fight.
It became a rout and pursuit. Ittai's ship overhauled a troopship, and made a
wide sweep so as to come at it from the side and ram it. But by the time the
position was right, they were close to shore. The enemy troops jumped into the
water, deserting their ship as they swam for land. So did the oarsmen and
hoplites. In a moment the Corinthian ship was deserted. So there was no point
in holing it. They drew up alongside, carefully, and transferred a limited
crew to take it away. It had just become an Athenian ship.
Most of the enemy ships escaped, but when the action was done, one had been
sunk -- it wasn't as light as the fast ships -- another disabled, and twelve
captured. It was a stunning victory, with no Athenian losses.
They made their leisurely way home, towing some of the ships that they hadn't
manned. The men were still under orders, but they were smiling and joking, and
the officers made no objection.
During a break, Captain Ittai ambled by Jes's station. "Now you know,"
he said with satisfaction.
"Indeed I do, sir," she agreed.
Kettle, nearby, nodded. He had not scowled at her all day.

There followed a bout of repairing and refurbishing, as they got the captured
ships into shape. They would not be used for some time, because they lacked
captains and crews, but they bode well for the future of the Athenian navy in
these waters. The crews were given leave time for a few days; they had earned
their rest.
Then Captain Ittai approached Jes when she reported for duty, as she had to to
be sure of her pay. "We are not going out today," he said. "But come aboard
anyway. I have been meaning to tell you something, and to ask you something."
She joined him on the otherwise deserted ship, uncertain what this was about.
He gave her the helmsman's vacant seat in the stern, and took his own.
From this deck they had a good view of the surrounding harbor.
Ittai looked around, seeming vaguely uneasy. "May I speak candidly?"
"Sir?" Because of course a captain had no need to ask permission of any
crewman for anything.
"I have in mind a matter that does not relate to business. It is personal and
private."
Oh. "Of course, sir. I will not repeat it elsewhere."
"Thank you." He hesitated, then plunged in. "I will not be marrying
Wona."
Oops. "If I offended you by introducing -- "

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"No offense. She is a beautiful woman, and most obliging in the female way.
She made me realize that I am after all ready to consider marrying again.
But she is also vain, faithless, lazy, and inconsiderate of those of whom she
believes she has no need. I believe I would regret marrying such a woman, who
is not at all in the class of my former wife."
He had Wona precisely targeted! Jes could not in conscience argue the woman's
case. "I am sorry, sir."
"Don't be. There are many men who would be quite satisfied with such a woman.
Perhaps I was spoiled by my wife, who was no beauty, but a creature of
sterling personal qualities."
This remained awkward. "Surely so, sir."
"So I wanted to make clear to you my decision in that respect, before asking
you my question. Wona and I have no future, regardless."
She looked at him questioningly. What else was on his mind? This hesitancy was
unlike him.
"As I mentioned before, I am not adept at social relations," he said after a
pause. "I command men, but I do not know how to speak to a woman in a truly
courteous manner. I am a man of the sea."
She waited. She felt much the same when dealing on a social level with men,
but she couldn't say that.
"So I ask you to understand that no affront to you is intended, and to hear me
out before you answer."
"Of course, sir."
He set himself, and spoke again. "I know you are a woman."
Oh, no! He was going to fire her. He would have to, because women were not
allowed on warships. So he was apologetic because he didn't like having to do
it.
She held her chin up, determined not to cry. "If I may ask -- how did I
give myself away?"
He smiled. "You didn't. You play your part so well that I could not be sure,
though I fancy myself an astute judge of crewmen. I marveled that a stripling
should pipe so well, with such feeling for the sea and oars. Usually it takes
a man some time and experience to develop that spirit -- yet you lacked
experience. Your explanation of rowing alone sufficed, but the matter did not
quite leave my mind. It was a minor mystery. Then when you introduced

me to Wona -- "
"She told you?" Jes asked, appalled.
"No. She did not betray you. She does have loyalty to you, a person she
respects beyond others. But I made a connection. There had been a story of a
beautiful woman traveling in the company of a stripling brother who
nevertheless could handle weapons; it was said that he killed several Persian
raiders last year, and did not brag of it. That was why that story remained in
my memory, another minor curiosity. As a manager of men, I have an awareness
of details that don't quite mesh; sometimes there is a larger pattern. I
concluded that you must be that stripling."
"I did not realize how news travels," Jes said ruefully. "I take no pride in
killing, but I had no choice."
"So I gathered. One of my suppliers is a trader named Crockson. He -- "
"Crockson!"
"I do not know him personally, but I know of him. He fancies stripling males,
and treats them well. He is currently without one. There was a story that one
with a beautiful sister came to work for him, but that he did not take that
particular stripling as a lover. Not, I think, because of refusal, for he gave
that stripling money and a flute, and the lad played well."
Jes brought out her flute. "Yes, it is his flute. He helped me practice, and
had me study the ships, so that I could do -- as I did."
"That third memory finally enabled me to see the larger pattern. But though I
could fathom a reason why you were not his lover, I still wasn't sure. So I

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verified it."
She looked at him questioningly.
"One of my bowmen has exceptional night vision. I asked him to spy on you in
the night, during the bivouac. He reported that you found it necessary to
squat to urinate. He was instructed to tell no one but me, and he obeys
instructions. I was then satisfied with my diagnosis."
He had certainly been careful and competent in his investigation! "I --
I will go without fuss, sir, so as not to embarrass you. I -- "
"No. You are an excellent pipeman, and I want to keep you. You did not panic
under stress in the battle. It is my prerogative to hire whom I please,
regardless of gender. But it would be better if the remaining crew did not
know. The oarsmen, in particular, have their superstitions, and the hoplites
might seek to take advantage, the moment you left the protection of the ship."
"Yes, sir." She thought of Kettle, the commander of the hoplites, who would
surely be furious to learn he had been backed off by a woman. She had been on
the way to earning his grudging respect; this would destroy it.
"So keep your secret, and so will I, for the duration of your service on my
ship."
"Oh, thank you sir! I love it on your ship. I -- "
"Do not be grateful yet. There is worse. I don't know how to make this sound
appropriate, so I won't try. I want to marry you."
Stunned, she stared at him. "What?"
"By the time I had ascertained your gender, I had learned a good deal about
you. You are a fine person. You possess all the qualities Wona lacks.
You have courage, integrity, constancy, discretion, and ability. And I think
you could learn love. You are the kind of woman I want. A woman who could
replace my wife without seeming inferior."
"But I'm not beautiful!" she blurted.
"You are not buxom, agreed. Your face is not pretty. But you are slender and
graceful. In any event, you are quite attractive to me in personality, and
I think in body too, were you appropriately garbed and coifed. Much lies in
the way a woman presents herself."
That was true, as Wona had taught her. She could act like a woman, if she
tried. But she was still so amazed by his offer that she could not truly

believe it. "I -- I can't -- "
"I realize I am old," he said. "And stout. I can't blame you for not finding
me desirable as a man. But I can offer you an excellent life in other
respects. A life that will continue well after I am gone. That should be some
compensation."
"Oh, it isn't that, sir. I respect you as a man. I just never thought --
"
"In any event, there is no need to make an immediate decision. All I ask is
that you consider the matter for a fair period, and give me your answer, of
whatever nature, before this tour is done."
"I think I am dreaming this," she said. "But even in a dream, I have to say
that I came here with Wona to find a husband for her, not for me, and I am
honor bound not to desert her until she finds a suitable man."
"I will obtain another officer for her. One who will satisfy her, and be
satisfied by her. You can assure yourself on that score before saying anything
further to me."
"And I -- I never even thought of marriage. Not to a man of your stature. I --
I like being a crewman. I don't think I could be a gracious woman, confined to
a house. I would always want to put on mannish garb and go out for more
adventure."
"If that is the price of you, I will gladly pay it. I would ask only that I be
allowed to accompany you on your adventuring, so as to be assured of your
safety." Then he frowned, reconsidering. "Unless you are saying that your
taste is not, after all, in men."

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"Oh, no, sir! I want to be with a man when -- I mean, I try to look like a
stripling male, but that's to enable me to go about my business safely. I am a
woman. I long to be -- to be a woman with a good man. To be desired as a
woman."
"I am very glad to hear it. Then I trust we are agreed: You will continue your
position here, in male guise. But you will also think about the role I offer
you as a female."
"I will certainly think about it. But -- may I speak candidly, sir?"
He laughed. "There is another level? Speak; I will not be angry."
"You -- in your position -- you can command women, any women you desire.
You can -- can command me. As a woman. I am young and inexperienced in this
respect, but I -- I would do whatever you asked, just to keep my position on
your ship. And I would not -- not find it unpleasant, though I would lack the
ability Wona has. You surely know this. You could use me and discard me,
without commitment. Why do you speak of -- of marriage?"
"That is easy to answer. Because I don't want easy passion, or experience. I
can get that from women like Wona. I want a true relationship. I
want love. That cannot be compelled, and I would not compel it if it were
possible. You are young, but you understand honor. I know you would not speak
love to me unless you meant it. If -- if it is your desire to marry me without
the commitment of love, I will accept that, hoping love will come in due
course. But I would much prefer to have your love, and give you mine. I
realize that this makes me a foolish man, but it was the way it was with my
wife. So you must come to your own conclusion, and if you realize that you can
never love me, I will let you go without rancor. But I sincerely hope that is
not the case."
Jes found herself flattered as well as surprised by his offer. But marriage?
It was so far beyond any notion she had ever entertained that she simply could
not assimilate it. "I will think about it, sir," she finally said.
"Thank you." He stood, in that manner dismissing her. "In the interim I
will see about placing Wona."
"Thank you, sir." She turned to go, and felt him pat her bottom. She

remembered what Wona had said about that: proof that a man was interested.
That little token impressed her almost as much as his words did. It wasn't a
purely intellectual thing.
She made her way numbly to the apartment. What was she to do? What Ittai asked
seemed inconceivable, yet she knew he was serious. She had to decide, and give
him an answer. But what would be her answer? She was not close to a
conclusion.
Wona showed up when her shift was done. Jes wasn't sure what to say to her, so
said nothing. That turned out to be easy, because Wona was full of news of her
own. "I met this new man," she said. "He says word got around about Trierarch
Ittai's new woman, so he wanted to see for himself. He's a citizen too, and
younger and handsomer than Ittai. I'm free tonight, so I'll give him a try."
She perfected her appearance and breezed out.
Jes had not had to say anything. That seemed best. Evidently Ittai had been as
good as his word, and spoken to another officer. Wona was not even aware that
she had been passed off. She thought she was just being her normal faithless
self, choosing among options.
The training sessions resumed. It was clear that the war was not over, and the
power of Sparta and Corinth had been set back, not broken. There would be
other encounters. In fact, the enemy had not given up its designs on
Acarnania and was determined to dislodge Phormio and open the blockade. More
Peloponnesian ships were being mustered. Phormio, alarmed, sent to Athens for
more ships. Word was received that a fleet of twenty fast trieres was on its
way. But then they were diverted south to Crete, and were indefinitely delayed
there.
"The idiots!" Wona exclaimed as she relayed this gossip. "Don't they know we

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have a war on here?" Apparently she was coming to identify with the war
effort, now that she was dating a younger and more communicative officer.
Jes was concerned too. The news was that a fleet of at least seventy-
five ships was coming, and these were not an expeditionary force loaded with
gear and troops, but were cleared for action. They were intent on destroying
the Athenian fleet. And they had a new and talented commander named Brasidas.
Not only was this fleet larger and deadlier, its commander would not be making
the foolish mistake of allowing the wind to mess up his formation. This time
the odds seemed truly overwhelming.
"Oh, by the way," Wona said as she made ready to go out. "I believe this young
citizen I am presently seeing will do. You may go home now."
Amazed by the suddenness of it, Jes could only protest. "But you aren't
married yet."
"I will be, in due course. He has asked me to join him in his quarters, and I
know when a man is serious. Only idiocy will deny me this rich union, and I am
not stupid in this respect. I will never let him go. So I thank you for your
patience, and you are no longer my brother."
"But what of Trierarch Ittai?"
"I told him I had found another. I think he was not sufficiently taken with
me, after the first couple of nights. Maybe it's guilt about his dead wife; he
doesn't believe he should be allowed that much pleasure. No fault of yours,
Jes; it was a good introduction you made. But I have a much better prospect
now."
Amazing. Wona had no idea what was on Ittai's mind. "Then -- then I wish you
well," Jes said. "But I will remain to finish out my service, because I
like being a member of the crew of a trieres."
"Obviously so. I'm glad this service you did for me is not a complete waste
for you. Fare well."
"Fare well," Jes echoed as the woman breezed out.
At the door, Wona paused. "But take his offer, Jes." Then she was gone,
leaving Jes stunned. That had been happening to her, recently.

Captain Ittai was summoned for a strategic conference by the admiral. He took
along one crewman as an aide. Jes. She walked behind him and kept silent,
taking and holding his peplos when they entered the assembly chamber. He said
nothing to her about anything personal. She knew he was giving her a chance to
overhear important business, and she appreciated that.
She also wondered how Wona had caught on to the relation between Ittai and
Jes. Then she realized that the trierarch might have confided to the other
officer that he had another woman in mind for himself, so the other would not
be concerned about the chance of Ittai wanting to take Wona back. And Wona
could have wormed that fact out of the man. Since Ittai was seeing no other
woman, Wona could have added up the ciphers and come to a correct conclusion.
Probably Jes had given unconscious hints when she spoke Ittai's name, too.
For the idea of the trierarch was growing in her mind. She had never
experienced wealth, but it certainly did not seem like an evil. She did
appreciate his company. And his offer was most flattering.
But now there was more important business. She put away her idle thoughts and
paid attention.
Admiral Phormio minced no words. "Admiral Brasidas is encouraging his men by
claiming that their lack of skill is compensated for by greater daring and
numbers. He also reminds them that whereas in the previous action their fleet
was not prepared for battle, in the coming action they will be seeking it. He
is correct." He paused. "They have seventy-seven ships. We have twenty.
We are at a severe disadvantage. I shall not stage the contest in the gulf if
I can help it, nor will I move into it. I see plainly enough that a confined
space is a disadvantage to a few ships, even if they are used with skill and
are faster, against many ships inexpertly used. The fact is that one cannot
properly move against a ship to ram it, if one cannot get the enemy in one's

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sights from some way off, and if one cannot retire if need be in a difficult
situation. There are no opportunities for carrying out a breakthrough or a
sharp turn, which are the maneuvers of a faster-moving fleet; but in a
confined space it would be necessary to turn the sea-fight into a land-fight,
and in those circumstances the larger fleet wins."
That certainly covered it, Jes thought. But what did he propose instead of
those bad alternatives?
"Now I want you to have your men stay near the beached ships in good order,"
Phormio continued after a pause. "Make sure they act on the words of command
with alacrity, particularly since there will be little room between the fleets
for embarkation and attack. They must be able to get off the beach and into a
defensive formation quickly. In the battle they must regard disciplined
movement and silence as the most important things. These are necessities in
most warlike operations, and not least in fighting at sea. And they must repel
the onslaughts of the enemy in a manner worthy of their former actions."
Jes was disappointed. She had hoped to learn of some brilliant strategy, and
all she was hearing was elementary instruction.
Then the admiral talked with individual captains. "Ah, you brought your
pipeman," Phormio said, nodding at Jes. "Your ship is, I believe, the most
readily maneuverable in the present fleet, thanks to your piping and the
responsiveness of your oarsmen."
"Perhaps, sir," Ittai agreed, pleased.
"If we should have to retreat, you will cover the rear."
"Yes, sir."
Jes was appalled. That meant that they would be the last ship, in front of the
first ships of the superior enemy fleet. It was a likely death sentence.
"It is a position of honor," Ittai told her, as the admiral moved on to

another captain. "One ship may save several others, by interfering with the
pursuit. But it must be able to maneuver very cleverly, if it is not to be
destroyed."
It was an honor that could destroy them. Jes brooded on that as they made
their way from the meeting. Finally she could stand it no more. She broached a
subject she had never, before this month, dreamed she would.
"Sir, I fear we are going to die. Do you wish me to -- to be with you
tonight?"
"Under duress? No."
"I -- I am volunteering. I would be pleased to -- to do it. If you wish it."
"Do you love me?"
"No, sir. I am only intrigued. But there may be no other -- "
"Jes, there is nothing I would like better than to be with you tonight, or any
other night. But it is your love I desire more than your body. I will not have
you when you are hostage to the fear of death. Sleep in peace."
"But I am considering -- it is not that I dislike you, sir -- I think I
would like to be with you. I just don't feel worthy of marriage to you. So
maybe it is better to -- "
"A compromise," he said gently. "Be with me, but without any touching.
We will talk and sleep separately."
"Yes, sir." Her feelings were mixed. She had really hoped to have sex with
him, but couldn't say that. He assumed that she was offering to oblige him
solely from a sense of obligation, so he was being decent.
His quarters were far more comfortable than the room she rented with
Wona, a clear signal of his wealth and status. There was an older woman there.
"Serve my pipeman and me a good meal," he told her. She nodded and set about
her business.
Jes realized that he had been serious about the nature of this night. He had a
maidservant, and he wasn't sending her away. That was reassuring, but also
frustrating.
They ate well, served by the maid, and talked of incidentals. "I miss

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Athens," Ittai said. "But as it was, not as it is now, ridden by the plague. I
believe I shall retire to some outlying province, where the crowding is less.
Perhaps I shall purchase a boat that can be rowed by two or three, and explore
the by-paths of the shore."
"That sounds beautiful, sir." She spoke the truth, but remained in doubt,
because she didn't know whether she could agree to share such a future with
him. What he offered was ideal in every respect, yet somehow she could not
accept it.
Ittai did not look directly at her. "Do you suppose a woman of the provinces
would appreciate a life like that?" he inquired. "I am thinking of marrying
one, but I am not of the provinces, and don't know what such a person would
wish for."
He was being careful to protect her identity, lest the maid overhear.
She appreciated that, too. "I think she would," she agreed cautiously. "I am
of the province of Euboea, and though the women there mostly stay at home and
work, there are some who do like the sea."
"But would such a woman care to do it with an old city man?"
"I don't know." And there it was, again. What was holding her back? Why
couldn't she take what was offered, which was so much better than any future
prospect she might have?
He shrugged. "Perhaps because she would think that the offer was not sincere.
Or that he would tire of her, and make her a kitchen servant while he took a
mistress, as some men do."
"Oh, no sir!" she said. "I -- I don't think she would think that. I
don't -- don't know what she would think."

"She's a mercenary fool," the serving maid muttered. "And so are you."
Ittai smiled. "You must forgive my maid. She has been in the family for
decades, and has forgotten her place."
"No I haven't," the maid said. "I just don't want to see you ruin your later
life with that wanton wench from the provinces. Why can't you settle on a
decent woman?"
She was thinking he meant Wona! Jes began to like this servant, who obviously
had been treated well. There were men who beat servants for speaking out of
turn, and it was clear that Ittai did not. This servant had a motherly or
sisterly protective interest in his welfare.
"I shall have to seek a decent woman," Ittai agreed. "One my maid approves of.
It would not be safe in the household, otherwise."
"Hmpf." The servant moved away, theoretically annoyed at being mocked.
They finished the meal. "The piper will stay the night, and go to the ship
with me in the morning," Ittai told the maid. "He will use the spare room."
That room turned out to have an internal toilet and a fabulously soft bed with
a voluminous quilt. Jes had never before experienced such affluence.
And this was just his temporary lodging while he was on duty away from home.
Such a life could be hers -- if she could simply accept it. So why couldn't
she?
And the answer came to her: because she was not a creature of affluence.
She had toyed with the notion, but now that she saw the reality, she knew it
was beyond her. She liked the lean country style of living. Having servants,
getting soft -- it just wasn't her way. Such a life would drive her crazy.
And so at last she knew her decision. She would have to decline. That would be
painful, but rational.
Yet she could not quite settle on that, either. So she went out of the room
and sought the trierarch. "I -- "
He saw immediately that she had something serious on her mind. "Shall we take
a walk while the maid finishes here?" he inquired.
"Yes, sir."
They left the house and walked along the beach until they were alone.
"You have decided," he said.

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"Yes, sir. I -- I think I could not endure the life you lead. I -- I
wish you were poor!"
"That is a novel rejection."
"I am trying to be rational, so as not to hurt -- not to make a decision
I would later regret. But I do feel I owe you, sir. I -- I would like to -- to
spend this night with you, and go my way tomorrow."
"So as to give me some payment for my courtesy."
"Yes. And to taste what might have been."
He walked in silence for a time. Then he spoke in a very low and controlled
tone. "I dislike gambling, but sometimes it becomes necessary. I am declining
your offer."
"Sir?"
"I suspect that your mind is not yet firmly decided. I am refusing your small
offer, for the sake of the large one I want from you. Were I sure of your
resolve, I would accept this night, for my desire for you grows stronger by
the hour. But I do not care to win one ship, if it costs me the battle. I
want you to take more time to be sure of your decision."
"But we may die!" she cried.
"And if we live, we may live fulfilled. What is a night, compared to a
lifetime?"
"But I know your life-style is not for me. Please, sir -- "
"Think for a moment, Jes. If you bear a baby -- do you want to be out on a
mountain? Or would you prefer to be in comfort inside, with your needs

attended to?"
"I -- " She paused, realizing what she was saying. "I think I do not want to
bear a baby. I would not be a fit mother. Children need constant attention."
"And they can have it. In a poor home, the mother is bound. But in a wealthy
one, there are servants to relieve the mother. You could have a child and
still be free to row across the sea, returning at the end of day. I offer you
not restriction but increased freedom."
He had a point. "I -- I will consider further, sir."
"Thank you, Jes."
They returned to the house, and slept apart. Jes discovered that she was
relieved, not because she had not given her body to him -- he surely knew what
to do in that respect, so she would not have been unduly awkward -- but
because the prospect of marrying him had not been ended. He was correct: she
was as yet of two minds about the matter, and could not be sure she would
decline again. But it did seem likely.
In the morning she woke early, as she normally did, and used the facilities to
wash herself. Then she discovered something she had missed before: a feminine
dress. One of Wona's, probably, purchased for her by the trierarch, now
forgotten.
She stared at it for some time. Then she lifted it from its peg and pulled it
on. It fit her somewhat loosely, but a few adjustments fixed that.
She stood before the metal mirror, admiring herself as that rare creature, a
woman. She turned about, watching the skirt flare outward.
Then a strange urge overtook her, and she did something she feared she would
regret. She walked out of the room, wearing the dress.
The maidservant was already working at the hearth. She turned as she heard
Jes, then her eyes widened. "Keep my secret," Jes told her, and marched on
into Ittai's room.
She stood in the center, waiting until his eyes opened. Then she began to
dance. She did know how to do it, having shared in family activities from
childhood on. She whirled, making the skirt flare out and up, showing her legs
right up to her bare crotch. She moved her knees and hips in the way Wona had
taught her, making her body flex. She made graceful leaps, landing softly. She
stepped forward and back, as if she had a partner.
And then she did have one. The trierarch joined her, matching her steps.

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Then he held her and turned her. Then he kissed her.
"Will you marry me?" he asked.
"No. I am still thinking."
He stepped away from her.
"But I offer myself to you, this day."
"I want that. But I want more."
"How can I decide, if I know only part of you?"
At that he chuckled. "You are teasing me, you lovely creature."
"No! I really am trying to decide. But it's not fair to make me decide without
knowing -- what it would be like."
He nodded. "Perhaps it is my groin speaking, but you have a point. So I
will gamble again, bedding you without commitment. Come to me, if you really
wish it."
She hauled off the dress, flung herself into his embrace. They turned around,
kissing, and then they were on the bed, and she was under him, wrapping her
legs around him, and he was suddenly pushing into her with a sharp pain. She
bit her lip, realizing that it was like this, the first time.
He pumped, and pumped again, and grunted as he swelled inside her, and
erupted, and relaxed, panting. His weight was heavy on her, but she could
handle it. She hugged him close, and stroked his head with one hand, loving
being a woman despite the stinging in her groin. In any event, that discomfort

was fading.
"You didn't tell me you were a virgin," he said, admonishing her.
"I said I lacked experience," she reminded him.
"All women say that. I apologize; had I realized, I would have been far more
gentle. There was no art in this, only my burgeoning desire for you, that
I could not hold back. Another time, I promise, it will be different."
"No, it was better to do it without art, the first time. I am glad to have
this slight pain, of you."
He kissed her face, wherever his lips would reach. "Oh, Jes, I know I
can love you, if you let me. You are -- everything."
"Don't speak in the passion of the moment," she said. "Such decisions are not
wise at such times." She was actually speaking for herself, because she knew
that if he asked her again to marry him, she would agree, regardless of the
wisdom of it. He, not she, had had the sexual climax, but it was her passion
that was burgeoning. She reined in her emotion, as she would during a battle.
She still needed time to consider.
He got off her. "Then I will make one statement I know is rational," he said.
"That was the best bedding I have had since I lost my wife." He turned away,
evidently embarrassed to have made the comparison.
"Thank you." She could not trust herself to say more. She knew she could not
rely on anything she felt at this moment. She got up, recovered her dress from
the floor, pulled it on, and returned to her own room to clean up. Again.
"I'm glad you are a woman," the maid muttered as she passed.
The woman had feared the trierarch would take a boy to his bed? "So am
I," Jes agreed.
The bleeding wasn't too bad, but she feared it could spot her uniform and
betray her on the ship, so she stuffed in some cloth and hoped for the best.
Then she donned her uniform, made sure she looked masculine, and went out to
have breakfast.
"My maid approves of you," Ittai said as they ate.
"How does she know I am worthy of approval?"
"I don't know, but her judgment is infallible. After she critiqued Wona, I
realized she was correct."
So that was how he had targeted Wona so accurately. A woman could see through
a woman in ways a man could not.
After that, they went without further comment to the ship. Ittai addressed his
crew in the manner Admiral Phormio had recommended, and the routine cautions

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seemed to have good effect, because they all knew that a severe test of their
skills was coming up. They had shown that they could row rings around an enemy
fleet, and they hoped to do so again.
But there was one significant difference, this time. In the prior battle, the
Spartan fleet had had to travel to a particular destination, and the Athenians
had been able to make an ambush of their choosing. This time they had to
defend their base of Naupactus. Should the enemy advance on that city, their
own fleet would have to stand and fight, regardless of the odds against it.
They were pinned down. It seemed very bad to Jes. If only those other twenty
Athenian ships had arrived in time! With forty good ships against
seventy-seven, they might have made a good fight of it. But as it was, the
enemy could bring almost four ships to bear on each Athenian ship -- and this
time the Spartans were fast, cleared for action, and competently commanded.
They would not be giving away any easy advantages.
However, it was not Jes's place to brood about strategy. She just had to focus
on her piping, and do the best she could. And hope that disaster was not close
upon them. So she fixed instead on her feeling for Captain Ittai, but it had
not yet settled into any measurable format. Her body longed to be in his
embrace again, but her mind derided this as the folly of a girl without
experience. A man in combat who was swept off his feet would soon be dead;

similarly a woman who lost her bearings in passion would make a bad decision.
Wona's cynicism was surely well justified. Jes still needed time to get
perspective. So she returned to consideration of the tactical situation of the
ships.
The Spartan fleet was there, practicing maneuvers. The ships were so numerous
that from a distance they seemed to form a dense cluster. Several came out to
look at the Athenians, and they were indeed fast. The description did not
apply to their actual speed in the water, but rather to their type;
sometimes a speedy "slow" ship was faster than a poky "fast" ship. But these
were fast in both senses of the word, and perhaps almost a match for the
Athenian ships.
The enemy did not offer combat. It was merely showing off, teasing the
defenders. The Athenians could not afford to attack; they would go right into
disaster. So all they could do was watch and wait. There was no point in
remaining out in the water, they needed to conserve their strength until the
Spartan fleet made a move. So Admiral Phormio ordered his ships to land, where
they beached. Now his cautioning about staying close to the ships counted; at
any time there could be action, and any delay at all could be disastrous.
For several days the Spartan fleet practiced its maneuvers. Even from the
distance of the full width of the gulf, they were impressive, and more so when
the Athenian fleet moved up for a closer look. There was nothing clumsy here.
But the Athenian crews were becoming restive; they did not like holding off
from action so long.
Jes did not return to the trierarch's house, though she longed to.
Slowly her disciplined mind was gaining ground, reminding her of the
difference in their stations, and of the enormous change in her situation an
association with him would mean. As if in the distance, the sensible decision
was taking shape.
During one of the frequent pauses, Jes happened to be near Captain
Ittai; perhaps it was by his design. "The admiral is determined not to be
drawn into the narrow confines of the gulf for battle," he murmured, not
facing her. "But I fear he will have no choice."
"My fear, too," she agreed.
"At times I wish I had accepted your offer. Then, if I die, I would at least
have had that much."
"Sir?"
"Or did I forget something?"
He was teasing her. She liked it. "Perhaps it was only a dream."

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He nodded. "A phenomenal dream. So there is no help for it but to win this
battle and survive. Then perhaps we can try reality."
"Yes, sir." Once more, it was all she could utter.
He moved on, but her sensible decision was now out of sight over the horizon.
His little ways charmed her. She tried to remember Wona's cynicism, but that,
too, was far gone. Prospects for close combat she could assess; the sense or
nonsense of love defeated her.
The next day at dawn the Peloponnesian fleet moved out. It formed into four
columns and turned east, into the gulf. The fastest ships were on the right
wing.
"Damn!" the helmsman swore.
So the enemy was going for Naupactus. This was serious mischief.
The Athenians hurriedly embarked and moved east along the north coast, while
the supporting force of Messenians made a similar move along the land.
The Athenians formed into a single line, stretching out their formation so
that the enemy could not make a sudden lunge and cut them off, beginning an
envelopment. Ittai's ship was in the middle; it would not seek the rear until
it had to.
The Spartan fleet abruptly turned from its "line ahead" formation to

"line abreast," four ranks deep. It was a savage and brilliant maneuver, and
it almost ended the battle right there. But the eleven leading ships of
Phormio's fleet stroked valiantly forward. "Play, piper!" the helmsman shouted
as the boatswain lifted his palm.
Jes played, speeding the cadence, as the enemy fleet bore down. The ships
ahead were pulling clear, thanks to their speed, but it looked as if
Ittai's ship was about to be caught. A Spartan ship's ram was coming right at
it.
"Go!" the helmsmen cried, shooting his own hand upward.
Jes increased her cadence as rapidly as she could without outstripping the
best beat the oarsmen could match evenly. The oarsmen, spooked by the threat
of the ram, responded with a final surge of power. The ship pulled just clear
of the enemy vessel, so close that some of the opposing oars collided.
The boatswain brought his hand down part way. Jes slowed the cadence, allowing
the oarsmen to get their stroke back. Now the ship pulled rapidly away from
the enemy, because of the time it took for the Spartan ships to turn and
pursue.
Jes, facing back, could see the carnage behind. All nine ships caught by the
sudden charge were driven in flight toward the land; they had no room and no
time to maneuver to get into fighting position. They were quickly overrun and
made useless. The Athenians dived into the water and swam to land; any who
didn't escape were killed.
With one exception: the Spartans managed to encircle and capture one ship with
its crew intact. The Athenians on that one did not dare move, lest they be
summarily slaughtered; enemy bowmen had them completely covered.
The Peloponnesians wasted no time; they tied ropes and started towing away the
empty ships. The one captured entire they required to row itself where they
directed; only by obeying could its crew hope to survive. The spoils of war
were already being taken.
But the battle was not yet done. The Messenian land force arrived and went
immediately into action. The Messenians hated the Spartans, and were eager for
battle. They charged into the sea in full armor, overtaking several of the
captured ships as they were being towed, and threatening the enemy crews.
There were far more Messenians than Spartans, but the Messenians could not
effectively reach the ships in deeper water. They did board several of the
towed ships, and recaptured them in fierce fighting on the decks. They also
recovered the ship with the full crew, a significant prize. Jes had not before
fully appreciated the importance of land support; she had thought it was only
to assist the crews as they took their meal and comfort breaks. Not so!

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Meanwhile she continued playing the Straight Ahead tune. They were the last in
a line of eleven ships, now being closely pursued by twenty fast
Peloponnesian ships. It was apparent that the enemy ships were not quite as
fast as the Athenian ships, not because of any inferiority of design, but
because their crews were not as well honed. The ten ships before Ittai's were
pulling slowly away, reaching the harbor at Naupactus in time to range
themselves in the "Line Abreast by the Temple of Apollo" formation, ready for
defensive action. Their bows faced seaward as they waited for the onslaught.
All except Ittai's ship. The boatswain was signaling with his palm down,
bidding Jes to slow the cadence. She did, cautiously, and now the ship lost
distance ahead of the pursuit. The enemy fleet, believing that it could catch
the laggard, was putting forth all due effort, and the twenty ships were
spreading out as the faster crews outpaced their neighbors. Soon the leaders
would flank Ittai's ship and attack it from either side with bow and spear.
What was the captain thinking of? She remembered Admiral Phormio's directive
that Ittai perform rearguard action, and this he was doing -- but the force
behind was overwhelmingly greater, and would soon destroy the single ship.
What was to be gained by offering up this sacrifice?

Well, maybe it wasn't entirely futile, because one Leucadian trieres was now
significantly outpacing the others. It might be possible to fight it alone,
before the others caught up. Still, even if they won, it was only one ship,
with many more rapidly closing. Much more was needed, if there was to be any
chance to save Naupactus.
Their ship reached the harbor barely ahead of the Leucadian. Jes could hear
the Peloponnesians singing the paean for the final attack. Normally the crews
were silent; noise was the mark of an ill-disciplined crew. But this was the
exception; they were working themselves up for the final slaughter.
Ittai's ship passed a merchant ship that was anchored in deep water, as such
vessels normally were. Such noncombatants were normally ignored in battle;
they were part of the booty, not capable of fighting.
But as they passed it, the boatswain gave the Hard Right Turn signal.
Surprised, Jes played it, and the oarsmen obeyed automatically. The ship made
an exceedingly tight turn, going behind the merchanter, as if hiding. There
was laughter from the pursuing ship.
But there was no Slow Cadence signal. What were they doing? The ship continued
its turn, looping entirely around the merchant without slowing more than it
had to to make the turn.
And suddenly there was the pursuing ship -- exposed in profile. The boatswain
gave the Straight Ahead signal, followed immediately by the Ram signal. Jes
played the tunes, and the oarsmen evened their strokes and propelled the ship
ahead. The Leucadians were unable to move out of the way;
they could only watch in amazed dismay as their doom closed on them.
Just before the strike, the boatswain signaled Lift Oars. Jes played the tune,
and the ship completed the maneuver on inertia. They all braced for the
impact.
It came. Jes would have been thrown from her seat, if she had not braced
herself. The collision holed the enemy ship, immediately disabling it. Ittai's
crew cheered.
Then the Withdraw signal. Jes played, and the oarsmen reversed their stroke
and hauled the ram back out of the hole, leaving the other ship floundering
and filling with water. It would not sink, but it was useless for combat. The
crew could not even desert it, because this was Athenian water, and any
swimmers would be easy targets. So they just sat and waited in evident
despair. How quickly their fortune had reversed!
The following Peloponnesian ships were similarly dismayed. Their line had
become ragged in the close pursuit. So their leading ships backed their oars
and halted, waiting for more ships to catch up. However, some did not halt in
time, and ran aground in the unfamiliar harbor. Their enthusiasm for pursuit

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had blinded them to common sense.
Now Phormio made a single shout. The ten remaining ships of the Athenian fleet
surged forward in attack. The distance was small; in a moment they were on the
stalled enemies. The Spartans were in a poor position to defend themselves.
The integrity of their fleet had been lost, and they had little room to
maneuver. They had foolishly surrendered their momentum, close to the
Athenian line. Because of all the mistakes they had made, and their state of
disorder, the advantage of their superior numbers had been forfeited.
Ittai's ship turned and rejoined the Athenian formation. It was no longer the
laggard. Jes played the Forward tune, and they closed on the enemy in proper
style. She felt exhilarated by the elixir of battle, not at all afraid. This
was glorious!
The Peloponnesians fought only briefly, before turning to flee. That was yet
another mistake on their part. The Athenians had easy pickings, choosing their
targets. They went after the easiest ones and let the others go. Their
discipline, maneuverability, tactics, and courage in adversity had enabled
them to win the day despite the enormous odds against them.

All that remained was mopping up. Their ship went after one of the grounded
ships, taking advantage of its inability to maneuver. Troops on the ground
were wading out to capture it, but it seemed about to free itself and escape.
Instead of ramming a ship they could capture and salvage, they cut off its
escape and crowded against it from the sea side. They grappled it, holding it
firm. That prevented it from avoiding the Messenians, who came on, waving
their spears and shouting.
But the ship did not surrender quietly. Their hoplites made a desperate lunge,
leaping aboard Ittai's craft and engaging its hoplites. For a moment there was
fierce fighting.
An Athenian hoplite fell in front of Jes, wounded in the leg. The enemy
hoplite stood over him, raising his spear for the finishing thrust.
Jes acted without thinking. She drew her knife and hurled it at the enemy
soldier's face. The blade penetrated his left eye. He screamed and fell
backward off the ship.
But another was coming. Jes dived for the Athenian hoplite's shield. She
hauled it up and held it over the man's body, protecting him from further
injury.
Then Kettle appeared. He intercepted the enemy hoplite and dispatched him with
a single thrust of his spear.
The Messenians arrived, and the remaining crew of the captured ship
surrendered rather than be slaughtered. The fight was over.
The commander of the hoplites turned to Jes. "You have lost your knife,"
he said. "Take mine." He drew his dagger and offered the hilt to her.
She accepted it, realizing that by this token he had finally accepted her
position on the ship. He must have seen her defend the wounded soldier.
There was a pause while the other ship was secured. Jes looked around --
and saw that Captain Ittai was down. The helmsman and boatswain were attending
to him, while the bowmen looked crestfallen; they had not succeeded in
protecting him. Yet how could they? He had been struck by an arrow.
Something tore apart within her breast. Before she knew it, Jes was there,
throwing herself down by the captain even as the helmsman pulled out the arrow
in his shoulder. "Oh my love, don't die! Don't die!" she cried, her tears
flowing. She kissed his pale, still face. "I love you! Don't die!"
Ittai's eyes opened. "Does this mean you will marry me?" he asked with a weak
smile.
"Yes! Yes!" All her doubts had dissipated. She no longer cared where or how
she lived, as long as it was with him. He was an honorable, valorous, decent
man, and fully worthy of love.
"Good." His eyes closed, and he sank back into unconsciousness.
"It is a flesh wound, painful but not lethal," the helmsman said. "We will

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take care of him." Indeed, he held a bandage in his hands.
Then Jes realized where she was. She looked up at the boatswain and bowmen,
all of whom were staring. "It's a woman!" one of the bowmen said.
"A woman!" the nearest oarsman echoed, amazed. "Bad luck!"
She had given herself away. Now she was in trouble.
The helmsman stood up straight. "On the ship, the captain makes the rules. I
serve the captain."
"We all serve the trierarch," the boatswain said, and the four bowmen nodded
agreement. But the oarsmen were scowling rebelliously.
Kettle was close. "I see no woman," he said. "I see our pipeman, who has
served the ship well in two hard battles." He glared at the thranites, his
hand on his blood-soiled spear. "And will continue to serve. As will the rest
of us."
The oarsmen looked away, not daring to challenge him.
The helmsman smiled. "Pipeman, return to your station."

Jes got up and went back to her chair. The boatswain gave her a signal, and
she began to play her flute. The oarsmen, encouraged by the glares of the
hoplites, bent to their task. The ship moved out.
The Athenians captured six enemy ships, and recovered all of their own.
This battle, like others, showed the reasons for the Athenian command of the
Greek seas: Their crews were highly disciplined and competent, and their
captains refused to accept the logic of numbers or a tactically unfavorable
situation. No ship panicked. They retreated when they had to, but not in
disarray, and reacted quickly and decisively to take advantage of a sudden
change of fortune. Even when they lost almost half their force, they did not
give up. Their tactical professionalism was decisive. They wielded the ram
with a deadly precision that was beyond that of the opposing forces.
The captain of the Leucadian ship, Timocrates the Spartan, killed himself as
his ship began to fill with water. The Spartan fleet still outnumbered the
Athenians, but it retired to the south, surrendering control of the gulf to
Phormio. Thus the blockade of Corinth remained in place for years, crippling
that city's economy.
The plague, which was probably typhoid fever, ravaged Athens for two years,
skipped a year, then returned for one more year, as virulent as before.
It reduced the orderly existence of the city to chaos. The rule of law became
fragile or absent, as few people there thought they would live long enough to
pay the price of their actions. Perikles fell victim to the plague, surviving
it, but he never regained his strength and was reduced to lying abed wearing a
protective charm.
In the end, in 404 B.C., Sparta defeated Athens, but the prestige of
Athens remained until the city was sacked six centuries later. The power of
Greece in time gave way to that of Rome, to whom it bequeathed much of its
culture. The greatness of classical Greece is honored even today.
Chapter 11 -- PRINCESS
In the year A.D. 36 Herod Antipas was tetrarch, or governor, of the
Roman territories of Galilee and Peraea. A Roman procurator governed the main
part of the province of Judea. Thus Herod was, by default, the preeminent
Jewish authority of the time. But he was not considered to be a good man. In
A.D. 27 he had John the Baptist killed, fearing his influence among the
people, and Herod was the one who saw to the execution of Jesus Christ. He
married the daughter of the king of the Nabataeans, Aretas IV of Petra, This
was a good alliance, because Nabataea was a powerful kingdom that controlled
most of the Arabian peninsula and the principal trading routes connecting
Egypt and the Mediterranean to Persia and the Far East. Its wealth derived
originally from myrrh and other spices, but grew to encompass a wide range of
trade goods, including silk from the orient, "gauze" from Gaza, "damask" from
Damascus, as well as grain, gold, and wine. The Nabataeans spoke the same
language, Aramaic, and were usually close friends with the Israelites. A

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spring serving Petra was reputed to be the one called forth when Moses struck
the rock, though the authenticity of this belief is uncertain.
So King Herod had every reason to maintain good relations with Petra.
But the man seems to have been a fool about women. He traveled to Rome, where
he encountered his niece Herodias, wife of his half-brother Herod Philip. That
led to significant mischief.
BRY WAS HELPING LIN TEND their terraced garden. It was little, but it was
vitally important, and every day they had to carry crocks of water up to
irrigate it so it wouldn't burn away in the hot sun. Without it, they would

soon be hungry, because they had almost no reserves of grain or meat. They
existed largely by the tolerance of the king of Nabataea, who accepted them as
immigrants from the north but had not yet seen fit to grant them citizenship.
At such time as they had citizenship, and the right to graze sheep and goats
on a section of Nabataean pasture land, they would be much better off.
They carefully poured out the water so that it ran between the rows, none of
it being wasted. Then they stood, straightening their tired backs.
Water was heavy, especially when hauled uphill.
Bry straightened and looked around. He saw something in the distance.
"Lin! A caravan!"
She was as excited as he was. Caravans passed regularly through Khirbet
Tannur on their way between the capital city of Petra and points north, but
that did not mean they were a daily occurrence. They always stopped to make an
offering -- it was not nice to call it a toll -- at the Shrine of Atargatis,
the goddess of love, beauty, fruitfulness, vegetation and much else. Also of
war, and the underworld. It would be very bad form to incur her ire.
"Maybe it's Jes," Lin said.
But Jes had been gone more than a year. She had left with Wona, and would not
return until that faithless wife had been placed, preferably far away. Maybe
in Jerusalem, in Judaea, or maybe in Gaza. Maybe even somewhere in
Phoenica, really far away. So it was bound to take time. But Bry worried
secretly, as the months passed without her return. There were so many dangers
along the way!
Lin glanced sharply at him. "Don't say it."
That brought him out of his morbid reverie. "Right. Maybe it's Jes.
She's due."
Without further word, they left the garden, scrambled down the steep path, and
ran for the shrine.
The shrine stood alone inside the juncture of two canyons that branched out
from the Dead Sea, seven leagues to the northwest. It was on an isolated stone
rise, visible from the primary caravan route through the area, though still
below the rim of the canyon. It was a singularly impressive structure, facing
east and dominating that region of the canyon. It was left open to the sky,
with a broad flat stone platform for worshippers and supplicants to stand on,
flanked by two stone obelisks triple the height of a man, carved from the
native rock of the ridge. One pillar represented the god Dushara, ruler of the
mountains, and of all this land, and the other Al-Uzza, goddess of springs and
water, so vital in this dry land. But the Shrine Tannur was for the goddess
Atargatis; the others were merely guests at this site. The altar was for
offerings to her.
The caravan made good time, because it was arriving at the base of the shrine
the same time Bry and Lin did. Lin gave a scream of sheer joy. "Jes!"
she cried, running to fling herself into her big sister's arms.
Bry was just a bit more cautious. He had no doubt of Lin's identification, for
he recognized Jes too, despite her male attire. But she was in the company of
strangers. If she was concealing her identity or gender, they could be causing
her real mischief.
But his concern turned out to be unwarranted. Jes set Lin down and strode
forward to hug him too. "You look wonderful! Both of you! How are -- ?"

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"They're all fine!" Lin said. "Sam brought home a new wife, Snow. She's nice.
He thought she would marry Ned, but Flo said -- "
"Of course," Jes agreed, probably not grasping all of that but satisfied that
it was all right. "Wona has remarried. And I am married too."
Bry and Lin froze, astonished. "You?" Bry asked.
A portly older man standing nearby laughed. Jes turned to face him.
"This is my husband, Captain Ittai, retiring from the sea. This is his
caravan."

Bry stared at the array of camels, horses, and attendants. A number of them
were armed.
"Our caravan," the man said, putting his arm around Jes as she came to him.
"But -- " Lin started.
Jes leaned toward her. "Yes, he's rich," she whispered loudly enough to carry
through the canyon. "And these are my siblings, Bry and Lin," she said to the
captain.
"I am glad to meet both of you," the captain said.
They still could not believe it. "How -- ?" Lin asked.
Captain Ittai smiled. "It is a long story, but I will make it short. Jes
signed on aboard my ship as a man, but I penetrated her disguise -- "
"That wasn't all you penetrated," Jes said archly.
"And after that, we just had to marry," he concluded smugly. "So here we are,
to rejoin the family."
Lin tried again. "But Jes is so -- "
"So much more woman than I may deserve," the captain said, patting her bottom.
"She wanted to love me and leave me, but I persuaded her it wasn't fair to
take advantage of an old man like that."
It was becoming clear that the two were not going to tell their full story all
at once. "Sam is doing construction nearby," Bry said. "And Ned is designing
it. Flo -- "
"Why don't you go to let them know we are here," Jes suggested. "While we make
our offerings to Atargatis. Then we can go together to meet Flo and
Dirk. We have something important to discuss with them."
"More important than getting married?" Lin asked. She still seemed as amazed
as Bry was that angular Jes could have accomplished such a thing. She was
acting almost like Wona.
"Well -- " Jes said, glancing at her husband.
"Equivalently important," Ittai said. "And somewhat urgent."
"Oh, come on," Jes teased him. "We did it just an hour ago. It can't be that
urgent."
"This is weird," Lin muttered.
"I'll tell Sam," Bry said to her. "You tell Flo."
"Yes." They ran off in different directions, while Jes and the captain climbed
the long steps to the shrine.
As it happened, Sam and Ned were together, consulting about the placement of a
significant block of stone. This was to be a shelter for high-
ranking travelers, well above the base of the canyon. It was being built on
commission by the king of Nabataea, and the family was allowed to occupy land
in this vicinity and to farm on it as long as progress on the construction was
satisfactory. Bry knew it was, because Ned was good at designing things, and
Sam was good at heavy work. Still, the favor of kings was notoriously fickle,
so nothing was certain until they were granted citizenship.
"Jes is back!" Bry cried as he saw them. "And she's married! A rich captain!"
He saw Sam and Ned exchange a significant glance. But they didn't doubt him
openly. They concluded their business and accompanied him back to the farm.
Jes and her old rich husband were already there. Flo was better prepared,
having been briefed by Lin. But there was another surprise. "You have an
urgent mission," Flo told Bry. "Talk to your sister while we get things
ready."

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Without waiting for him to react, Jes took him by the elbow and led him to a
shady spot by the wall. "Flo says you're the only one who can do it. You know
the terrain, you speak the dialect, and you're small enough to slip by
unnoticed."

"Do what?" he asked blankly.
"Travel to Galilee alone."
"What?"
"My husband is Judaean. He has contacts there, especially relating to events
of the sea. He learned that when King Herod Antipas of Galilee traveled to
Rome, he met his niece Herodias, said to be a most attractive young woman.
She was married to his half-brother Herod Philip, but didn't like him, so she
agreed to marry Herod Antipas if he would get rid of that Nabataean princess.
He was so smitten with her that he agreed, and he is about to do the deed."
"But that's Princess Aretania, King Aretas's daughter!"
"Precisely. She will die, if she doesn't get out of there in a hurry.
Herod will be there in another three days. She must be warned before he gets
there."
The gravity of it sank in. "You want me to go warn her."
"Yes. We hate to ask this of you, Bry, but -- "
"But I don't know the princess! And she doesn't know me. Why should she accept
the word of a stranger?"
"I wish we had an official letter to give you, Bry, but if we did, you still
couldn't risk carrying it. If you were caught with anything like that --
" She shook her head. "You will simply have to be persuasive. Her life depends
on it."
"But I'm not even a citizen! And her father -- "
"We will proceed on down to Petra while you go north. Our mission is
ostensibly to request a land grant, which will likely be granted, considering
my husband's wealth. But we will seek immediate private audience with the
king, and tell him what we know, and what you are doing. We'll ask him to send
a force to the border to escort the princess when she crosses it."
"But -- "
"You will have to get her safely across it. Can you do that, Bry?"
His head was spinning with the suddenness and urgency of the mission. "I
guess I'll have to."
And so he found himself traveling alone that night, instead of sleeping, for
night was the best time to move swiftly. It was cool, and there was no one to
observe. He had a pack that Flo had prepared, with figs, bread, hard cheese,
and strips of dried goat meat. He had a change of cloaks, so as to be able to
shift his appearance quickly. And he had his message.
He knew the way well, for he had spent his young life in the vicinity of the
Dead Sea and Galilee. Drought and changing politics had forced his family to
move south, seeking a better situation, but he hadn't forgotten the old
haunts. He could follow the trail all the way north to Peraea. After that it
would be less familiar, but he could find his way.
He walked swiftly through the starry night, using his staff to check any dark
objects in his path. He didn't tire; the urgency of his mission propelled him.
He passed the city of Kerak and by morning he was at Dhilban, ten leagues
north of his starting point. This was excellent time, but he reminded himself
that it was illusory, because now he faced the heating day, and the possible
curiosity of strangers.
He continued as long as he could, slowing. Now fatigue was catching up with
him. He had done a lot of errand running, but this was a much longer haul than
any before. At the border of Peraea he found a private grove and hid in it,
lying down to sleep during the heat of the day.
He was lucky. The palm trees kept the sun off him, and no one spied him.
It would have been too much to say he was refreshed by his hot sleep, but at
least he wasn't utterly worn out. As evening came he ate sparingly from his

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pack, took a good drink from a local well, and resumed his trek.
The border of Peraea was not well guarded, for this was a time of relative
peace. Merchants and tradesmen crossed all the time. He walked down

the road as if he had business ahead, and no one challenged him. But he was
now in potentially hostile territory.
The road moved along the northeastern shore of the Dead Sea. The barren land
sloped down to the salty water, with massive pieces of dark basalt rock lying
scattered as if by a giant's hand. Salt crusted everything near the shore,
turning it white. If Bry slitted his eyes, those coated rocks looked almost
like clouds in air. But he knew it was a dead region; there were no fish, no
plants, because of the poisonous thickness of the brine. There once had been
life here, though, because he saw the seashells lying high up on the slopes.
The darkness closed in, and he could see the sea no more, but he could hear
its waves lapping the shore, and smell the thickness of the air. He would be
glad to get beyond this desolate region.
In due course the sea curved west, away from the road. The Jordan River came
in from the north -- and along its banks the ground grew green again, for it
was fresh water. There were grass, and wheat, and olive trees, and the air
became sweet. The smell of plowed fields wafted in on the night breeze. What a
relief!
The river ran straight north, following the cleft between mountain ridges, and
the road ran straight beside it. Bry's fatigue actually diminished as he
walked, because of the pleasure of the environment. He was making good time.
Still, he had a long way to go, and little time. He had to get there before
King Herod did!
By dawn he was near the northern border of Peraea. The two sections of
Herod's domain were discontinuous, with a portion of Decapolis between. Herod,
an arrogant man, did not necessarily get along well with his neighbors, so it
would normally be better to travel through Samaria instead, going around
Decapolis. But that would take him a full day out of his way. So he had to
risk the direct route. But not by day.
He found another grove, selected a secluded spot hidden within it, ate, and
slept. Bry was good at finding paths, and good at hiding, having done both all
his life; no one discovered him.
In the evening he resumed his trek. He had about half a day's travel left, if
he could find the way.
He had no trouble locating the city of Beisan; it was right across the river.
The bridge was guarded, as it represented access to the city from a foreign
territory, but the guards were evidently asleep. Good enough; he moved
silently across and to the gate.
It was closed for the night. He couldn't get in without waking the guards, and
he didn't want to do that, for any number of reasons. So he slid around to the
side, circling the city until he reached the gate on the other side. That was
closed too, but before long it should open to admit routine vegetable venders
bringing their wares from the surrounding fields. Cities were hungry things,
and needed huge amounts of food. So Bry settled down against the wall to nap
until the day began. Any activity at the gate would wake him.
Sure enough, soon there was the approach of hooves. Several mounted men
charged up to the gate. "Open for His Majesty King Herod Antipas!" one
demanded loudly.
The sleepy guard was unimpressed. "I see no king. Where is your authority?"
"Here, you lazy scoundrel." The man handed across a scroll.
The guard perused the scroll, then gave the order. This was indeed the advance
party for the king.
Bry scrambled up. The king was already arriving? He barely had time to warn
the princess.
He walked around to the gate. Sure enough, it remained open, because

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there wasn't much point in closing it when dawn was so close and the king
would soon arrive. He walked in unchallenged.
The houses were densely packed inside the city: simple cubic flat-roofed
dwellings with dung-colored walls. The palace wasn't at all difficult to
locate: it was a two story stone structure of considerable size, containing
chambers for the city elders to gather after the day's work, and where
citizens could come to receive judgment and make legally binding declarations.
This was where the princess would stay.
Now came the hard part: getting in to see the princess, before the king
arrived. He couldn't take a day to scout out the situation and find the best
way; he had to do it immediately.
He decided that a bold course was best, in this situation. He went to a public
scribe and bought a small blank scroll. Few folk were literate, but he could
write a few words, He wrote four, then made a deliberately indecipherable
signature, and rolled and sealed the scroll so that it looked official. Then
he put on his better tunic, brushed his hair back, and approached the main
entrance.
The guard here was not asleep. He wore the badges of some rank, and had
arrogance to match. "What's your business, boy?"
"I bear an important message for Princess Aretania."
"What is the message?"
"It is only for her ears."
"Don't fool with me, boy! I will be the judge of what is or is not important.
Now speak, or get out of here."
"As you wish. I was told to allow no one but the princess to see this, on pain
of severe punishment, but I'm sure you have the necessary authority."
He handed the sealed scroll to the man.
The guard considered the scroll. Messages to royalty were special; a person
could readily get his head lopped off for snooping. So he did not open it.
Instead he snapped his fingers for a servant. "Take this message to the
princess."
The servant took the scroll and disappeared into the depths of the palace. Bry
waited, doing his best to maintain a calm mien. The princess could summarily
order his own head off, if she thought the matter an unkind joke.
But he hoped she would be curious enough to inquire.
The servant returned. "The princess says to admit the messenger to her
presence."
The guard never blinked. "Of course. Guide him there forthwith."
The servant turned, and Bry stepped briskly forward to accompany him. He felt
weak with relief. His gamble had paid off.
The princess's apartment was well back in the labyrinth. The servant brought
him to the curtained door and spoke loudly enough to be heard inside.
"Majesty: the messenger is here."
"Enter, messenger," a woman's voice replied.
Bry stepped through the curtain and found himself in a richly decorated suite.
There were rugs on the floor and carpets on the walls. A woman stood alone in
the center. She was not old, but neither was she young, and she was somewhat
plain of feature. Her robe, however, was ornate, and she wore jewelry that
looked quite precious. She was clearly the princess. Accordingly, Bry dropped
to his knees and bowed his head, waiting for her to acknowledge his presence.
"Rise."
He got back to his feet, but remained silent. He knew that a common person
never spoke to a royal person, but only responded to direct orders or queries.
"What is this message?" she asked.
He looked around. "Your Highness, it must not be overheard by anyone

else."
"Where are you from?"

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"Nabataea, Your Highness."
"Speak to me in that dialect."
"Gladly, Your Highness," he said in that variant. It was mainly a matter of
accent and inflection, but was almost impossible to fake. Bry, living between
the two kingdoms, had learned the dialects of both.
"Ah, you really are! From the northern province, no?"
"Yes, Your Highness. Near Tannur."
"Follow me." She turned and went to a small garden courtyard where a fig tree
grew. He followed at a respectful distance. She picked a fig and offered it to
him. "Eat."
He accepted it and put it in his mouth. It was delicious. He understood the
significance of this, too: he had eaten in her presence, and by Nabataean
custom would not hereafter betray her or speak falsely to her.
"Now the message. Dispense with the formality and speak plainly."
"King Herod has found a new love, his niece Herodias, and will marry her. But
she demands that he get rid of you first. Princess, you must flee this kingdom
before he returns!"
She blanched. "How came you by this news?"
"My elder sister married a ship captain. He has connections, and learned the
scuttlebutt of a ship coming from Rome. They say that Herodias is fair of
feature and form, and is given to making demands of men. She has entirely
fascinated the king, and -- "
"Yes, I'm sure. What says my father?"
"He has not yet been informed. We -- we deemed the matter so important that I
was sent to warn you, before Herod returned. My sister is even now informing
King Aretas. We beg your forgiveness for our presumption, but -- "
"Why should I believe you?"
Bry was appalled. "Oh My Lady, I beg you -- "
She smiled. "I do believe you. I know my husband, and I have heard of
Herodias. I must return forthwith to my father. But I know Herod will not let
me go."
"You must go before he returns!"
"Too late. He is already here."
"Then if you can flee before he -- "
"No, I will not be able to leave without his approval." Now she looked grim.
"What is your name?"
"Bry, of the family of -- "
"Bry, you show a certain resourcefulness." She glanced at the scroll she still
held. "All this says is BEARER HAS SECRET MESSAGE."
"I could not risk writing it down."
"To be sure. What would you recommend?"
This surprised him. "I -- I -- maybe if you could go with his permission. If
he doesn't know that you know. If you visit your father -- "
"He would not allow that."
"Then maybe a city near the border, in Peraea -- "
She smiled. "That, I may be able to manage. I have been before to the fortress
of Machaerus, at the southern end of Peraea. That would even be a suitable
place to dispatch me, in some seeming accident of which he has no official
knowledge. He won't want to antagonize my father by being open about it. So he
may agree."
"And from there you can sneak across the border and be safe," Bry agreed,
relieved. "My mission is done."
"By no means," she said. "You will see me safely across that border, because
you know that terrain as I do not."
"But I can't stay with you! I mustn't be seen with you, lest suspicion -

- "
"You are young. You will become my maid."
"I -- "

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"Wait here." She walked from the garden.
Bry waited. He knew how Jes often dressed in male clothing, and sometimes Lin
joined her in that. It was safer to travel as boys. But to dress as a girl --
Yet it did make sense. Who would suspect a personal maid? Unless someone made
the connection between the arrival of the messenger boy and the new maid.
The princess returned with an armful of female apparel. "We shall make a fine
girl of you," she said with satisfaction.
"But others will know, if I don't depart after delivering my message."
"You have already departed. I sent a servant who resembles you. He masked his
face. The guards saw him go. I get new servant girls all the time;
they have no enduring value. Now change."
She was catching on quickly. But this remained difficult. "I don't know
anything about being a girl. I will make mistakes all the time."
"I will teach you."
"But -- "
"Get on with it," she said briskly. "Take off all your clothing. I will
prepare you suitably."
"But -- " he started, alarmed at the thought of being seen naked by a woman.
"If I am to trust you to deliver me through the wilderness, you must trust me
with the preparation of your body. I'm sure you don't have anything I
haven't seen before." She reached out and caught hold of his tunic. "Do it
now, or I will do it for you."
Bry hastily got out of his clothing. In a moment he stood before her, bare.
She studied him for some time, considering. Then she nodded.
"These are the undergarments," she said, presenting him with silk slip and
sash. He put on the first, but had no idea what to do with the second.
"This is padding," she said. "It belonged to a maiden who was less endowed
than she craved. It will give you the form of a maiden. But be sure you keep
it in the right place." She put the thing around his chest, wrapping it
several times, tying it behind. It did bulk up his front somewhat.
Then he donned a cotton underskirt, and frilly vest. Over these went a solid
dress. There were slippers, too, that made his feet look surprisingly
delicate. Finally the princess fussed with his hair, arranging it in a female
manner and fixing it in place with a large curved comb. She tied a colorful
scarf over his head.
"There," she said, satisfied. "Now see yourself." She held up a large brass
mirror.
Bry was amazed. The face in the mirror was that of a rather pretty young
woman. He angled the mirror down, and saw a slender but definitely feminine
body, complete with dainty feet.
"But I don't know how to act, or what to say," he said. "I can't even --
when I have to -- the clothing is wrong."
"You will be mute to all but me. You will do whatever I tell you. If you don't
understand, I will call you stupid. No one will suspect." She smiled
fleetingly. "And you will squat to pee, as all girls do."
Oh. She seemed to have worked it out. He nodded, mutely.
"Now I will go and charm my loving husband into sending me to Peraea,"
she said. "I am not entirely lacking in the wiles of my gender."
That was becoming clear. But what was he to do, meanwhile?
"Wait here," she said. "Take this mirror and this sponge and wash your face
and arms -- and your legs, where they show. Girls are cleaner than boys."
She departed, and he got to work as directed. He was not thrilled to

become a girl, but it did make sense, and certainly it would be even less
thrilling to get caught and executed along with the princess. He found that
there was indeed a fair amount of dirt caked on him; he hadn't noticed,
before. But with the help of the mirror and a fair amount of work he succeeded
in becoming more feminine.
After that things moved swiftly. That afternoon the princess and her maid

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boarded a horse drawn wagon with a sunshade and curtained sides for privacy
and protection from insects. There were horsemen before and after, to ensure
that no one interfered with the princess and that she didn't go anywhere by
herself. They were almost alarmingly protective.
That left a lot of time alone in the carriage. The princess insisted on having
her maid ride with her, and the maid fetched anything the princess might need
in the course of the ride. When the maid did, sometimes a guard would try to
steal a kiss. Since Bry was playing the part of a mute, they assumed that he
would be unable to tell. Bry had to get advice about how to deal with that.
"Just try to stay out of reach," the princess advised. "They figure to start
with kisses, then proceed to more, and if you try to protest, they may try to
rape you, and deny it if challenged. This is the way of men with women."
He was coming to appreciate the situation of women in a way he had not,
before. "My sister Flo was raped," he said. "And my brother's wife Snow. We
thought it was just ill fortune."
"No, it is standard practice," she said. "Men conspire to separate women from
their protection. A girl must be ever on her guard." Then she reconsidered.
"Or maybe you should kiss him. Hard."
"But -- "
She brought out a tiny spice box. "This is the foulest-tasting stuff I
know of. Smear it on your lips. Just keep your tongue off them."
Bry touched it with a finger, and tasted it with the tip of his tongue.
It seemed as though he had just bitten into camel manure that had grown too
ripe. He smiled.
It took only one kiss. Thereafter, no one bothered him, even when the taste
faded. It had been worth it.
Betweentimes, they talked. Bry was surprised to discover how much they had in
common. He was the youngest boy of an orphaned family, so had felt somewhat
isolated from the regular community of people. She was the only daughter of a
busy king, used to make a political marriage to a neighbor king who didn't
really care for her, and she felt isolated too. Both of them loved the rocky
countryside of Nabataea, and its impressive cliffside architecture.
Bry realized that isolation could happen to anyone, whether royal or common.
He missed his sister Lin; Aretania missed her brothers.
In due course they reached the fortress Machaerus. "We must not wait, even for
a night," the princess said. "My husband's assassins can strike at any time,
and I have obligingly put my head on the block. I will send you out on an
errand, and you will explore the best route out. We must act at nightfall,
before they expect it."
"Yes."
So even as they arrived, Aretania went into her act. "Oh, this is so
wonderful!" she exclaimed as they were escorted to the mountain fortress.
"Girl, go out and pick me some posies! I want a nice selection of fresh
flowers for my room."
Bry nodded, picked up his skirts, and hastened out to the countryside.
The guards shrugged. Nobody cared about the bad-tasting mute servant girl.
It didn't take long. He picked flowers on the slopes and scouted out a path
suitable for women in skirts, that avoided normal paths. Soon he had an
excellent route that would get them efficiently away from the fortress.
And someone spied him. It was a lone boy, probably returning from an

errand. It was just bad luck that their paths had crossed.
The boy stared at him as they passed each other. "Bry?"
Startled, he paused. He recognized that voice. "Lin!"
"I thought it was you," she said as they embraced. "But I never expected a
girl. With posies, yet. I had to verify it before speaking."
"Well, you're a boy!" he said defensively.
She smiled. "For sure."
"But how did you know I would be here?"

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"Our spies tracked the royal tour. You have the princess?"
"Yes. I'm scouting her escape route."
"This is it. I know the way from here. Bring her here and we'll be ready."
"Just as soon as we can get her out of the fortress. But suppose guards come
along? They follow her everywhere."
She glanced significantly around. "We have bowmen ready. Bring the guards here
too, if you have to. By the time their bodies are found, we'll be gone."
"Right. I never expected to see you here."
"Someone had to make contact, and I said I'd know you anywhere." She eyed him
again. "But I almost didn't. You make a fine girl, Bry. Maybe you'll grow up
to be a good wife and mother."
"The same time you become a husband and father!"
She laughed and kissed him on the mouth. And rebounded. "You taste like camel
manure!"
So some of the taste remained. "Of course. Next time keep your lips where they
belong, you fresh boy."
"Aw, do I have to?" She patted him on the bottom.
"Your hands too!" he exclaimed, but he couldn't help laughing.
They separated, both quite satisfied.
He returned at dusk with a nice bouquet of wildflowers. "But these are not
enough, you stupid girl!" the princess cried imperiously. "I need more.
Many more."
Bry spread his hands, indicating that he had found all he could.
"You idiot!" the princess screamed. "Do I have to do everything myself?
I'll show you where there are flowers! You just haven't looked in the right
places." And right then, extemporaneously, she walked out. To show him where
to look.
The guards, caught off-guard, were slow to follow. The princess looked back at
them. "Hurry up!" she called. "You can pick flowers too."
For some reason the guards lagged even farther behind. It wasn't difficult to
lose them in the crevices of the mountain. Then the two of them hoisted skirts
and ran along the route Bry indicated, knowing that the pursuit would soon be
hot.
He led her, panting, to the place he had encountered Lin. She was there, with
a small hooded lamp in the dark. "This way," she said, offering a helping hand
to the princess, who evidently wasn't accustomed to exercise this strenuous.
"Guards in pursuit," Bry warned Lin.
"They won't pass this spot."
They slowed to a walk. Soon they reached the border. There were troops from
Nabataea, and a curtained wagon with horses. "Your Highness," the captain of
the guard said, bowing low.
"Never mind that!" the princess gasped. "Just get me out of here in a hurry!"
They got to it, and soon the wagon was moving south. Bry assumed that he could
now leave the princess's side, but she had him join her again. "But my sister
can -- "

"I know you, Bry, and everyone else thinks you're a girl, while she looks like
a boy. There are appearances to be maintained. Help me change; I'm soaking in
sweat." She gestured to the clothing thoughtfully provided in the wagon.
"But you know I'm not," he protested.
"I saw you naked. Now it's your turn. Anyway, it's dark."
So, while the wagon bumped along through the darkness, she stripped off all
her clothes, and dried off, and he helped her get into new clothing. It was
indeed dark, and he was almost sorry he wasn't able to see anything. She was
not a beautiful woman, but it would have been interesting.
"Thank you, Bry. Now you may rejoin your sister if you wish. Or, better, bring
her in here, and we'll all sleep."
Thus Lin joined them, and they talked briefly, and then slept.
As dawn came, they were at Khirbet Tannur, and went in a group to give due

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thanks to the goddess Atargatis, who had surely guided their successful
effort.
Bry thought that now he would be free to return to his family, but the
princess had a different notion. "I want you to meet my father, who will
surely reward you for your heroism."
"I'm no hero," he protested. "I just did what I had to do."
"Same thing," she said. "Get in the wagon."
Now they had new horses and a new guardian force, and rode by day, making good
time. But it was nevertheless a tedious daylong trip. They halted only for
rest stops. The princess questioned Bry about his family, and seemed genuinely
interested in his answers. They also snoozed some more.
In the afternoon they reached the region of the Nabataean capital city of
Petra. Bry had not been there before, and was interested, because he had heard
that it was a city of amazing splendor. The princess drew aside the curtains
so that he could goggle all he wanted. She evidently enjoyed his anticipation.
They were surrounded by towering cliffs of many-colored rock, the bands
showing red, yellow, white, and mauve. But that was only the beginning. The
way narrowed, with the rock rising up on either side as they followed a
winding wadi, where a river ran when there was rain but disappeared in normal
times.
"I told them to enter by the east, through the Wadi Musa," the princess said.
"So as to provide the most impressive tour."
The wadi deepened and narrowed, becoming a gorge. "This is the Bab as-
Siq," Aretania said. "Oh, it's so good to be home!"
The gorge became alarmingly deep and close, with the walls towering almost
vertically on either side. In some places the rock actually leaned out over
the road. Bry was afraid some rock would dislodge and crash down to crush
them. The walls were sculptured by nature, forming crude patterns that could
be taken as statues or arches. A channel had been cut into the south base,
where water flowed. He could see only a short distance forward or back,
because of the continuing curving.
Then it grew so tight there was barely room for the wagon to pass, and the
guards had to ride before and after. The slanting sunlight no longer
penetrated; they were in deep shadow. Still it squeezed in, until it seemed
they would have to stop, lest the wagon get stuck between the closing walls.
He found himself shivering, though it was not cold. He didn't like the feeling
that it could all collapse inward on his head.
"Look ahead," the princess said, enjoying his unease.
Bry looked, and saw a narrow vertical line of light extending from the bottom
of the gorge upward to the sky. Then they made a turn, and the gorge opened
out to reveal a truly splendid monument. It was two stories high, with six
tall stone columns on each level, and intricate carvings between them. It

was built against the mountain wall, and steps led to an antechamber within
the mountain. Further steps led beyond it into the dark interior.
"This is Al-Khazneh, the Pharaoh's Treasury," Aretania said, "because of the
vast treasure contained in the urn at the top. It is said that he who breaks
open that urn will reap a showering harvest of gold and silver coins."
"Is that true?" Bry asked, staring up at the huge stone urn.
"It is true that it is said," she replied with a faint smile. "We arrange not
to investigate too closely, lest the gods be annoyed and drop the urn on our
heads."
Bry could appreciate the concern. He could also appreciate the usefulness of
the legend. Many folk would come to see the urn, and they would bring business
to the city. But it was definitely carved stone, not a real urn. It looked to
be more than twice the height of a man in itself. Only a god could actually
use an urn of that magnitude.
"Actually it's a monument to my ancestor, King Aretas III," she continued
after a pause. "His coffin is there."

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"Was he the one who conquered Damascus?" Bry asked, surprised.
"Yes. He imported Damascan artisans to craft this monument, which is unlike
the others in our city."
"I am awed," he said candidly.
"Would you like to go inside?" the princess asked as they drew abreast of it.
"Yes! But is it allowed? I mean, if his coffin is in there -- "
"For me, it is allowed. I am of his blood, and I have nothing but respect."
"But don't you want to get home as fast as possible?"
"This is home." But she looked pensive, and he realized that she could be
concerned about her reception. She had evidently failed in her marriage, and
her father might not be pleased. So she was taking the pretense of obliging
Bry's curiosity, to delay her arrival a bit.
The wagon stopped, they got down, and walked up the three steps between the
central pillars to the vestibule. The two guards bowed, recognizing the right
of the princess and her servant girl to enter. There were large door-
frames to either side, with smaller (but still large) wooden doors. The
central steps led up to another doorway. This one was huge; the frame was
quadruple the height of a grown man. The guards quickly pulled open the doors
and lit torches so that the interior could be seen.
Bry had thought it would be shallow, because carving chambers out of rock was
no easy thing, but it was a full-sized square room a dozen paces across, with
three more alcoves off its walls. The one farthest in contained an altar three
steps up, in front of a great stone coffin. Aretania went to this and kneeled,
bowing her head. Then she stood and dropped a gold coin on the altar. She was
giving thanks to the gods for her deliverance. And perhaps also to her
ancestor, after whom she had evidently been named.
Bry turned away, not wanting to intrude on this private matter. He looked at
the painted walls, discovering all manner of carvings and statuary.
The interior and exterior of this grand temple contained every kind of
representation, including dancing Amazons, eagles, sphinxes, lions, satyrs,
and other animals. His eyes shied away from the snaky-locked Medusa, lest her
stone stare transform him to stone, and lingered on the bare breasts of human
priestesses. This was a marvelous monument.
Aretania turned away from the alcove and came to join him. "I think it will be
all right," she said. "My ancestor would not have approved the treatment I
received in Galilee."
"Surely not," he agreed.
They left the monument and returned to the wagon. The princess's step seemed
lighter now; she had received reassurance. The wagon turned north, then

northwest, where an enormous semicircular arena opened out against the western
slope. "Oh, my!" Bry exclaimed, awed.
"This is the main theater," the princess said with justified pride. "It seats
three thousand people. We have some of the finest spectacles in the world
here."
It was surely so, for nothing less would justify such a magnificent setting. A
huge colonnaded building closed off the semicircle, where the personnel and
displays were housed, and they led onto a raised stage area. It was easy to
imagine a huge crowd filling the theater, cheering as the show was put on.
"I will command your presence, next time there is a show," Aretania said. "You
will be my guest, in the reserved section in the first row."
"Oh, I couldn't -- "
"You won't have to be a girl, for that."
"Thank you, Princess." That had indeed been his concern.
Then they moved north again, passing a number of lesser tombs. They finally
emerged from the gorge to reveal the broad expanse of the central city of
Petra in its phenomenal splendor.
Bry's head turned from side to side as he tried to take it all in. On to the
northeast a fantastic array of tombs were built into the mountain face; to the

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west the city itself nestled in the bowl-like hollow of the mountains.
There were houses dotting the slopes, and larger structures in the center. He
was awed all over again.
They turned west and rode into the busy city. The main street had been
cleared, but the people were thronging to see the returning princess. Bry
tried to fade into invisibility, but could not avoid the cynosure. "Wave to
them," Aretania said mischievously. But he knew better, and sat as still as he
could, while she smiled and waved to the onlookers. "There is the Colonnaded
Street," she said, indicating a row of tall columns ahead. The street ran
right along beside the columns, and it was paved with clean stone blocks. "And
up ahead is the market section." He saw countless stalls set within the
shelter of the open structures, with their wares laid out enticingly. The
smells of breads and meats wafted across to them. He discovered he was hungry;
they had not eaten much during the day.
"There is the palace," Aretania continued, pointing out an impressive
structure on the north side. "We will go there to meet my father, after the
tour."
"But don't you want to see him first?" Bry asked.
A shadow crossed her face. "These things must follow the proper form."
He realized that she still was not certain of her welcome. Her rejection by
King Herod of Galilee could cause much political mischief.
"There are the public baths," she said, shaking off the mood as she pointed
ahead and to the south. "You won't have to take one of those, either, right
now."
"Thank you." It was bad enough being in such a public eye, but worse being
taken for a girl.
She turned to the north. "The Temple of the Winged Lions, up there on the
slope. We shall have to go there, too, another day."
"We?"
She gave him a serious glance. "You saved my life, Bry; I want to show my
appreciation." Before he could try to protest again, she added: "You
understand my situation; I value your support. I regard you as a friend. I
will not keep you long, just a few days. Until things settle down."
He appreciated her moment of candor. She had known him only a few days, but
they had been together in Galilee and for the journey south; he was a witness
to her activities. He could support what she had to tell her father.
"Of course, Princess."

"And the Tenenos Gate," she continued as they passed through a massive portal
girt by four enormous clusters of columns, some with flat contours, others
rounded. Stone carvings traveled up those contours to the lintel above.
"Leading into the Sacred Courtyard."
The sounds of the city faded as they moved through that courtyard. This was
lined with impressive sculptures of every description. There were the busts of
gods, both bearded men and clear-faced women. There were eagles with wings
outspread, and griffins, and a sphinx, and pediments with full human figures,
including bare-breasted women of inhuman perfection. It was also a garden
area, with nicely shaped trees and bushes. "The gods surely come here to
relax," Bry murmured.
"They surely do," Aretania agreed. "Certainly I do. But now we are coming to
the greatest of temples, the Qasr al-Bint."
This was indeed the most magnificent of the free-standing buildings he had
seen here. It was at the end of the court, and was about thirty paces on a
side, and similarly high. About a dozen broad steps led up to its base, where
four enormous pillars supported its roof.
"Close your mouth," Aretania murmured. "The gods already know it is awesome."
Bry closed his mouth. "It's so big," he said.
"My grandfather Obodas built it. It took twenty years and depleted the
treasury, but it was worth it. Now we shall say a prayer at the altar, then go

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to the palace; I think the tour of the temple will have to wait."
They mounted the steps of the open-air altar that stood before the temple, and
the princess bowed her head and gave another gold coin as an offering. Bry
didn't have any gold or even silver, so he gave what he had, a copper coin,
embarrassed.
"The gods don't judge by the material value so much as the spirit of the
supplicant," Aretania said. "I'm sure your spirit is good."
"I hope so."
They returned to the wagon, and now rode to the palace. Now it was dusk, and
the market place was clearing. A separate honor guard emerged to escort the
princess inside. Bry tried to hang back, but she signaled him imperiously
forward, and he had to follow her. "Just stay two steps behind me, and stop
when I stop, eyes downcast. Don't say anything; just be there."
That was about all he was capable of doing. He had never expected to meet the
king himself.
The guards formed a square around them. They marched as a unit into the
palace. At least Bry didn't have to go; all he had to do was stay in his place
in the formation, and try not to trip over his skirts.
They mounted the steps and passed the columns of the entrance. Inside were
more steps, and an anteroom, and a great hall. Therein, on his grand stone
throne, sat King Aretas. Bry kept his eyes downcast, but was able to sneak
peeks past his eyelashes.
The king stared at the princess for some time before speaking. Bry could see
her shaking; he knew she was afraid of her father. She was afraid she had
brought shame on him. She was afraid of his wrath.
Finally the king spoke. "It is an outrage!" he exclaimed. Aretania's head
bowed lower. "I am sorry, Father. I tried my best to -- "
"Yes, I know." He looked around. "I am going to do two things. First the one
who brought me this ill news. Where is the foreign sailor?"
"I am here, Your Majesty." It was Captain Ittai's voice. Bry was startled; he
hadn't realized that the man was present. There was a woman behind him: Jes.
"You are hereby granted citizenship in Nabataea. You may choose an estate to
possess, and your wife and family are granted tenure to share it with you.
Where is the boy who carried the message to my daughter?"

There was a pause. Bry couldn't speak up! Then Aretania turned. "Here, Sire."
She indicated Bry.
"But I was told -- "
"I required him to don female garb, Sire, so he could guide me home without
suspicion."
The king stared at Bry. Then he burst out laughing. "Good work, boy! You have
earned your family favor in this court. Take this in partial token of that
favor." He brought out a small purse and handed it to a courtier, who walked
to Bry and presented it.
Bry knew the moment he hefted it that it was filled with gold; nothing else
had such heft. "I -- thank you, Your Majesty."
But the king was already turning to other business. "Second, I am going to
punish Herod for this treachery to my daughter and affront to the Kingdom of
Nabataea. That miscreant will learn to respect my disfavor. This hearing is
ended."
The courtiers bowed and backed away. The princess was starting to do the same,
when the king signaled her with a slight twitch of his fingers. Then his eye
caught Bry's, and his fingers twitched again. So Bry followed the princess
forward.
As they approached, the king smiled. Then Aretania threw herself into her
father's arms. "Oh, Sire, you aren't angry?"
"I am furious," he corrected her. "But not with my innocent daughter.
That misbegotten oaf sought to have you killed, just to make an incestuous
liaison with his slut of a niece! He will pay, I swear."

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"I feared I had failed you, Sire."
"My favorite daughter never failed me."
"I am your only daughter," she reminded him, smiling. Then she burst into
tears.
"I will not send you away from this city again," he reassured her.
"Foreign barbarians are not to be trusted." He glanced again at Bry. "Now put
this fetching young creature back into his natural attire. No man should have
to endure what he has."
"Being garbed as a woman?" she asked.
"No, suffering your company for three days." Then he laughed again, so that
they could be sure it was a joke.
King Aretas did indeed raise an army, and sent it toward Judea under the
command of his generals. Herod sent his army to battle without taking personal
command. In the engagement, some of Herod's forces joined the Nabataeans, who
won a resounding victory.
This had several consequences. The people of the scattered parts of
Israel sought for some divine reason for their defeat, and remembered Herod's
prior crime against John the Baptist. The later Gospel writers then connected
this somewhat anachronistically to the request of Herodias's daughter Salome,
who danced the Dance of the Veils and beguiled Herod to promise her anything.
She asked for John's head, because John had condemned her mother's marriage as
adulterous, Herodias still being married to Herod's half-brother. It seems
that incest -- she was Herod's niece -- was not the issue. Surely John the
Baptist would have condemned the marriage on similar grounds, had he been
alive at the time.
Meanwhile, in history, the Emperor Tiberius of Rome was annoyed by the affront
such a defeat meant to a Roman province. He sent Vitellius, his commander in
Syria, to conquer Petra and bring Aretas's head back to Rome.
Vitellius set out at the head of two legions and their auxiliaries. He began
his march through Judea, but was persuaded by priests to take an alternate
route, because of all the religiously offensive graven images the Roman army
carried. However, Vitellius himself accompanied Herod Antipas to Jerusalem, to

offer sacrifices and take part in a religious festival that was about to
begin.
According to legend, which may have been generated after the fact, when
King Aretas learned of the approach of the Roman army, he consulted his
diviners. They told him that it was impossible for the Romans to enter Petra,
for one of the three rulers involved would die to prevent it. That is, he who
gave the order for war, or he who marched to implement it, or he who defended
against it.
Sure enough, Vitellius stayed at Jerusalem for three days. On the fourth day
he received word that Emperor Tiberius had died. Thus bereft of the authority
under which he marched, Vitellius ordered his army back to Syria and dispersed
it to winter billets. Petra was saved. In another generation it would indeed
be conquered by Rome, but not while Aretas ruled.
The legend of the gold and silver coins in the great urn exists among the
Beduins today. It probably postdated the actual residence of the
Nabataeans, but seems appropriate to the spirit of the time.
Chapter 12 -- QUEEN
It is a common perception that the Roman Empire represented a bastion of
civilization, in contrast to the barbarians surrounding it. This was not
necessarily the case. Rome did possess resources and military capacity that
were formidable, and it was these that normally carried the day, rather than
any superiority of culture.
Julius Caesar invaded Britain in 55 and 54 B.C., but did not stay. Rome did
not actually occupy Britain until the first century A.D., taking over most of
it in campaigns dating from A.D. 43 to 84. But it was not an easy island to
keep pacified, and even those regions nominally under Roman control could be

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restive. Roman arrogance and avarice hardly helped the situation.
The kingdom of the Iceni in southeast England rebelled against Rome, but was
defeated. A new king, friendly to Rome, was installed, and for a dozen years
the kingdom thrived. But in A.D. 59 that king, Prasutagus, died, and things
changed. In his will he left the kingdom to the emperor Nero and his own two
daughters as co-heirs. He may have been trying to avoid strife, knowing that
Rome could not be denied. But his caution was wasted. The Roman procurator,
responsible for administration and collection of taxes, was greedy and corrupt
even by the standards of those who supported Rome. He ruled that the country
of the Iceni was wholly the property of the emperor, and that money given to
the leaders of the Iceni had been a loan, not a grant, and was now due for
repayment. This was of course not the understanding of the Iceni, and they
resisted what seemed like a betrayal of prior understandings.
Meanwhile, the tribe immediately south of the Iceni, the Trinovantes, was
chafing because for a decade retiring Roman legionnaires had been driving
Britons off their lands and claiming their estates as land grants. The
original landholders were being treated like prisoners and slaves. This was
colonialism at its worst.
Rome had also issued an edict disarming the Celtic tribes. This was enforced
in the client kingdoms as well, and was a further source of anger.
By A.D. 60, relations throughout Britain were severely strained. Most of
Rome's British forces were tied down in Wales, where guerrilla attacks were
chronic. It would have been a good time for Rome to tread softly. But the
tyrannical procurator Catus Decianus had other ideas. He intended to show the
difficult natives their place, once and for all.
"THIS IS MISCHIEF," CENTURION ITTAI said as he read the proclamation he had
just received. "I shall have to try to reason with Decianus before he

brings the whole Isle of Britain down about our ears." He glanced at Lin.
"Summon the family; we must have a conference."
"Yes, sir," Lin said, leaving the chamber. She didn't know what was in the
scroll, because it had been sealed, but she was sure that trouble was brewing.
First she found her closest brother, Bry. He was her age, twelve, for they
were twins. They told each other everything, just as Ned and Jes did, though
they did not yet have any secrets as great as those of their older siblings.
Bry was in the garden, picking bugs off the cabbages.
"Big family meeting, right now," she cried. "You fetch the men; I'll fetch the
women."
"No, we'll fetch together," Bry said, standing and brushing off his shirt. "So
you can tell me what this is all about."
"It's because of some official Roman letter Ittai got. A mounted messenger
delivered it; I just showed him in to see Ittai. He says it's mischief, and
he'll have to go to reason with them. That's all I know."
"Where's the messenger?"
"Jes took him to the kitchen to feed him. He has to wait for Ittai's response,
so he can take it back."
"Ittai's treating his wife like a servant?" Bry asked with the hint of a sneer
in his voice.
"He had to. She was male." They both laughed, appreciating how Jes fooled
visitors by acting like a boy. The not-so-long-married couple had been
preparing to ride out around the estate when the messenger arrived.
"You know," Bry said, "I'm glad she married him. We'd have been in trouble,
otherwise."
She nodded. Their family had fallen on lean times, and when their big brother
Sam's estate had been taken over by the conquering Romans, things had looked
bleak indeed. But Jes had found Ittai, and gotten him to ask for this
particular estate as his land grant. Because he was a prominent Citizen of
Rome and a ranking military officer, with solid military credits, his wish had
been granted without question. So he had come as the new owner, but instead of

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running them off or requiring them to serve him as slaves, he had simply asked
for their loyalty. A loyalty he was prepared to return, as a family member.
They had sized him up and quickly agreed. As a result, there were no Roman
soldiers to enforce estate discipline; Flo and Dirk ran things as they always
had. That left Ittai free to ride around with his wife, whom he clearly loved
regardless of her dress, and to participate in Roman politics. When any Roman
appeared, they all deferred in an obvious manner to the centurion, and indeed
he was the head of this hierarchy, but there was no friction. They had nothing
to fear from the Romans, in contrast to their neighbors, and Ittai's
connections and wealth brought them benefits they would otherwise have lacked.
So Ittai was actually no liability; he was contributing in his fashion to the
welfare of the family. Jes had not only gotten rid of their liability, Sam's
former wife Wona; Jes had become their salvation by marrying surprisingly and
extremely well. She had seemed the least likely prospect for such a thing.
That was part of what was in the centurion's favor: he had recognized Jes's
worth, and accepted her as she was. A woman who liked looking like a man, at
times, but who was very much female inside.
They arrived at the wall that Sam was constructing. There had been some
depredations by wild pigs and so they were walling off this section, to
protect their delicate vines. Snow was helping him, placing small stones in
the chinks to hold the big ones in place. Sam liked this heavy work; it gave
him brute exercise. Lin liked Snow; she was a nice person, and she shared this
family's propensity for a prominent defect: her body was lovely, but her face
was downright homely. It was Lin's hand rather than her face that was
defective, but she related well.

"Family meeting," Bry called as they approached. "Ittai thinks there's going
to be trouble."
Snow grimaced. "We've seen enough of that already." It was an understatement,
for her own life; her entire village had been destroyed in a raid, and only
Sam's presence had saved her from death. Sam had unknowingly done himself a
giant favor when he saved her. He had in effect exchanged a woman who was ugly
inside for one who was ugly of face, and became far happier.
They ran on to locate and notify Dirk and Flo, then found Ned. Before long all
of them were assembled at the main house.
Ittai was quite serious. "The brute procurator is set to make an example of
the Iceni," he said. "He intends to cow them into complete submission by
destroying their royal family in the course of the provincialization of the
kingdom. Their queen Boudica will be demoted to servitude. I am directed to
attend, as a gesture of Roman unity in this matter."
Jes shook her head. "Queen Boudica will never submit to that. There'll be
rebellion if they try. The Iceni are fierce."
The others nodded. Their own tribe, the Trinovantes, had had their brushes
with their neighbors to the north, before the Roman conquest, and knew their
mettle. There had been peace only because the Iceni had remained nominally
independent as a client kingdom, with their own leadership in place.
Roman support had enabled the Iceni to gain advantage over other neighbors and
to prosper. But if the Romans now proposed to humiliate Boudica, the widow of
their king, there would be mischief indeed.
"I shall try to persuade the procurator of the folly of this step,"
Ittai said. "But he is a greedy and pig-headed man, and I fear I will not be
successful. So while it would be a betrayal of my status as a Roman to suggest
that any royal Iceni try to escape while they can, it may be that someone will
convey some such warning to them."
Lin saw Ned smile, and Jes, and then the others. Someone would certainly warn
the queen of the Iceni, if she had not already gotten news.
"I must attend, but there is no reason to let the estate be idle," Ittai
continued. He glanced at Sam. "I trust you and Flo can handle things in my
absence." He always gave Sam nominal precedence in the family, though they all

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knew that it was Flo Sam listened to, and Dirk who made most of the decisions,
after consulting with Ned.
"Yes," Sam said.
"I think Bry and Lin should come with me, along with my wife, of course.
But it is probably best to travel as a party of four males."
Lin smiled. She could pretend to be a boy readily enough, as she had not yet
flowered into a woman. She had done so before. She knew she would enjoy the
adventure.
Ittai wrote out a message, rolled and sealed the scroll, and gave it to
Lin to give to the messenger. They would set out on the next day, and be there
by the end of the third day hence.
Lin was excited. She had never before been to the capital city of the
Iceni. She knew that Bry was similarly thrilled. It should be a great
adventure, even if they only tagged along to act as servants to Ittai and Jes.
"We'll have to be the ones to warn the queen," Bry said.
That was right, because most of the rest of the family wasn't coming.
That made it twice as exciting.
They rode out next day, all garbed as males, riding good horses. Ittai wore
his centurion uniform, and looked very bold. He was retired, but Lin knew that
no Roman ever retired completely; he could always be recalled to service in an
emergency. As he had been, in effect, this time. He surely had not been
required to attend just for his appearance; the procurator wanted a competent
officer present, just in case the situation got complicated.

Soon enough the long ride became dull, as they passed field after field, and
forest after forest, and village after village. Lin managed to snooze on the
horse. She was glad when they paused for a luncheon from their saddlebags, and
glad when they came to an inn for the night. Ittai and Jes got a good room,
posing as a Roman traveler and his lackey. Bry and Lin had to sleep in the
stable with the horses, of course, but there was a point to that: to be sure
that neither their goods nor the horses themselves were stolen. They did get a
good supper inside, at least. Bry covered for Lin when she went out back for a
natural function; she was garbed as a boy, and didn't want anyone seeing her
where it counted. He had a good deal of sympathy, she knew, because of the
time he had had to masquerade as a girl.
In three days they came to the Iceni capital. Now Jes had to resume female
aspect, so as to be introduced to the procurator with her husband. Bry and Lin
took the horses to the stable reserved for the Romans, and saw to their
well-being. There were many other horses already there; a surprising number of
Romans had come in. Then they returned to attend the centurion.
"The formal meeting is tomorrow," Ittai said, glancing at them. "Perhaps you
boys have other business in the interim."
Oh, yes: they had to warn the queen that there was real mischief afoot, in the
off chance she didn't already know it. They went back out into the town.
The queen's residence was clear enough; it was the grandest structure in the
settlement. But it was well guarded, and the guards were not about to let two
stray boys in. However, they were prepared. Lin changed into female garb, with
gloves on her hands to cover her fingers, and they approached in humble
fashion.
The gate guard frowned. "What do you want, child?"
Lin smiled. She was young, but knew she was very pretty in the face. "My
brother and I have a gift for the younger princess," she said. "May we see
her?"
"No." The guard turned away.
"Thank you," Lin said sweetly, and slipped by him. Bry followed.
"Hey!" The guard turned, but the two were already well inside the compound. He
surely realized that it could be difficult to catch two children, and he
didn't care to make a scene for nothing. What could they do? There were other
guards inside; let them stop the intruders, who were probably harmless anyway.

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In this manner they passed a second guard. But the third would have none of
it. Lin smiled again, most winsomely, she hoped. It was fun practicing her
womanly wiles, which she hoped would be truly effective when she matured. "We
have this fine necklace for the princess. Please, sir, let us give it to her;
then we will be on our way, we promise."
"No! Begone before I cudgel you."
But another figure appeared, and the guard hesitated. It was a richly garbed
young woman not far beyond Lin's own age. Lin could not help admiring her
dress and hair. This was clearly a person of note, despite her youth.
"What is it?" she inquired.
"Oh, Princess!" Lin exclaimed, making what she hoped was not too great an
assumption. "I have a gift for you!" She held up the necklace.
"Why thank you," the princess said, accepting it. "I am Wildflower, daughter
of Queen Boudica. Who are you?"
"Lin, servant to Centurion Ittai."
The princess glanced sharply at her. "A Roman?"
"And I bring a message," Lin said quickly. "I hear things, because they don't
notice servants. The Romans are planning mischief. You and the queen must
flee."
The princess laughed. "They wouldn't dare."

Lin shook her head. "Please, Princess Wildflower! I heard my master say that
the procurator was a greedy and pig-headed man who wants to make an example.
Please get clear of him while you can."
"I don't care how greedy and piggish he is," the princess said with a toss of
her locks. "All Romans are that way. Mother simply will not allow any
foolishness. The Romans are here by our sufferance, and if they get difficult,
we'll throw them out. Mother will establish that at the meeting tomorrow. She
will be very firm."
"But -- "
Wildflower smiled patronizingly. "I'm sure you mean well, and I thank you for
the nice necklace; I'll wear it tomorrow. But you haven't seen Mother in
action. No one tells her no."
Lin saw that it was hopeless. "Please, at least tell her," she said. "So she
will be prepared, just in case. I hope you're right."
"Of course I'm right." The princess turned away and disappeared into a hall.
"Well, we tried," Bry said consolingly.
"We tried," Lin echoed.
They walked on out, and the guards ignored them.
The next day the big meeting was held in the public square. The Romans were
there first, and Lin was in attendance on Centurion Ittai, who looked
appropriately splendid. He also looked grim, because the procurator had indeed
not listened to reason. An added signal of mischief was the fact that Jes was
back in male garb, and armed. They were just spectators, but they just might
have to fight their way out.
Lin looked around. There were many Roman troops present, armed and armored,
with their long spears held vertical and their massive shields reaching from
the ground to their waists. One of the things about the Romans, Lin knew, was
that they were well equipped and disciplined.
The royal kinsmen of the Iceni walked down the street. They were men of
middling age in good cloth robes. They took their places around the square,
forming a kind of central enclosure.
It was only a short distance from the royal mansion, but Queen Boudica arrived
in style. She rode a fancy wagon drawn by two spirited horses, with her two
daughters flanking her. One was Wildflower, fair and smiling, and Lin saw with
pleasure that she was wearing the necklace. The other girl was about a year
older, dark-haired and sullen. Both were pretty and richly garbed, wearing
diadems.
The queen was another matter. She was huge of frame, with a glowering aspect.

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A great mass of dark red hair fell to her knees, seeming to curl around her
body like a separately living thing. She wore a great necklace of twisted
gold, and a many-colored tunic under a thick mantle fastened by a brooch. She
glared around at the assembled Romans, as if to destroy them with her mere
gaze, but they were impassive.
The wagon halted, and servants hastened to assist the queen and her daughters
down. Boudica marched to the throne set up in the center of the square and
took her place, while the daughters stood on either side. "Well?"
she demanded. Her voice was harsh.
The procurator stepped forward. "Are you prepared to repay the loan Rome gave
to your people, and turn over the reins of government to Rome, according to
the treaty?"
"By no means," the queen said imperiously. "My husband King Prasutagus left
the kingdom to Emperor Nero and my two daughters. Until they are of age to
reign, I act in my daughters' stead, and my word is law among the Iceni.
You will have no money, and no reins of power. Now that that is settled,
begone; your presence annoys me."

"This is not the correct answer," Catus responded. "If you will not turn over
the money and the reins voluntarily, I shall take them regardless. Now I
ask you again, are you ready to do your duty by Rome?"
Boudica stood. "I have no duty by Rome. I spit on Rome!" And she spat at the
procurator. The gob missed, but the Roman flinched. "Now get away from here
before I have my minions flog you for your impertinence."
"Oops," Jes murmured, next to Lin.
"It is you who are impertinent," Catus said. "And now you will feel the
consequence of your arrogance." He turned and lifted one hand in an evident
signal.
Suddenly more Roman troops appeared, pouring out of the surrounding houses.
They charged into the square, shoving the kinsmen aside. In a moment they took
hold of Boudica herself, and her daughters.
"What is this?" the queen shouted. "You can't touch the royal persons!
I'll have you sacrificed to the gods!"
"Strip her and flog her," Catus said coldly.
"What!" the queen screamed piercingly. "I'll see you flayed for this!"
The kinsmen tried to come to her rescue, but the Roman soldiers lifted their
spears threateningly. It was clear that the Roman force was overwhelming.
Lin watched with horror as the men systematically stripped Boudica of her
clothing and threw it aside. Both daughters screamed and tried to help her,
but this only attracted attention to them, and now they too were stripped.
Then the men tied the queen's wrists together with rope and hauled them up
over her head under a temporary wooden frame so that she was hoisted almost
off her feet. One soldier brought out a whip and laid it across her back and
bottom.
Boudica screamed, more in outrage than in pain. "I'll kill you! I'll kill you
all!"
"Ten lashes," Catus said, and turned away.
Lin was too appalled to watch further. But when she looked to the side, she
saw what was happening to the two daughters. They were both naked and
struggling, the elder with nascent breasts, the younger without -- and both
were being raped by the soldiers.
"No!" Lin cried in absolute horror. She started to run toward them, but
Jes turned and caught her in both arms, lifting her off her feet. "Don't get
yourself raped too!" she hissed. In a moment Lin realized that it was true.
She would only get herself similarly stripped and brutalized. She had to stand
and tolerate this atrocity.
Soon it was done. The Romans marched off, taking several of the kinsmen with
them, to be sold into slavery. Boudica and her daughters were left behind,
dumped on the pile of their clothing, all three of them suffering similarly.

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"After this, you will behave," Catus said smugly as he departed.
"I must go to them," Lin said.
"No," Jes said. "You want no association with this. We must leave this area
swiftly."
"For sure," Ittai agreed. "There will be Hades to pay."
They made their way back home with all due haste. Because they traveled
swiftly and mostly incognito, the ominous stirring of the folk of the region
did not touch them. But a dark tide was rising.
That tide continued through the winter. There was news of Queen Boudica and
her daughters visiting the various tribes of Britain and enlisting their
participation in the coming rebellion. The Romans might not recognize her as
queen of the Iceni, but other tribes clearly did. There were meetings with the
Coritani, Cornovii, Durotriges, Catuvellauni, Brigantes, Dubunni, and others,
and of course the Iceni and Trinovantes, where Lin's family lived. There was

no rebellion, yet, but everyone knew it was coming. Everyone except the
Romans.
"I don't want to know!" Ittai protested. "I am a Roman officer; my loyalty is
to Rome, however shabbily her minions may behave. If war comes, I
must serve with Rome."
"Then why don't you go warn Rome?" Jes asked in the presence of the other
family members.
"Because the idiots wouldn't heed me before, and won't next time."
"So there's nothing you can do anyway. So what's the harm in knowing?"
Ittai stared at her. "Are you thinking like a man or a woman?" he demanded.
Everyone laughed. But then Jes got serious. "I'm thinking like a settler who
doesn't want to see her lands ravaged by either side. How can we avoid being
regarded as an enemy by someone?"
Ned nodded. "We need representatives in both camps. I think we are protected
from the Romans, but not necessarily from the Celts."
"So maybe we should attend the secret meeting they are having next week in --
"
Ittai stood. "I have business elsewhere," he said gruffly. He was serious
about not wanting to know.
Jes shrugged. "Of course, dear. I will join you." She got up and followed him
out. But at the door she paused, speaking over her shoulder.
"Just give me time to get my clothes off."
They all laughed again. The centurion was preserving his official ignorance of
anything un-Roman, and his wife was supporting him in that, as she, too, was
now legally Roman. She had let the others know that the two would not be
returning for a reasonable time. As long as it took to make leisurely love.
"She really likes being a woman," Flo remarked appreciatively. They all knew
how little chance Jes had seemed to have of such a relationship. Now she was
reveling in it.
Ned shook his head. "I envy my sister her happiness." Then he glanced
significantly at Snow. "And my brother his." Snow obligingly blushed, as the
laughter continued. They all liked her very well. "But about that meeting:
they know us all, and that we do get along with our Roman proprietor. They
won't trust us. It may not be safe for us to attend."
There was a pause. Distrust could indeed be dangerous. The outrage of the
Britons was great, and anyone they perceived as enemy or spy could be
summarily killed.
Lin steeled herself and spoke. "I could do it," she said, her voice tight with
nervousness.
Flo shook her head. "They know you as well as any of us. You were at the
flogging."
"Yes. I met Princess Wildflower. And saw her raped. But I tried to warn her.
Maybe she -- she will protect me. If I go. If she's there."
"Even so, she will know you for a spy," Ned said. "She has no love at all for

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Romans."
"But maybe -- maybe she wouldn't want to see me hurt, any more than I
wanted to see her hurt. So if I told her I just wanted to try to keep it from
happening to us -- " She saw the doubt in their faces, and halted.
There was a pause. Then Flo spoke. "Still, we do need a connection. If
Lin is willing to take the risk -- "
"A risk of death!" Bry protested.
"A risk we all may face, if Queen Boudica's forces deem us an enemy,"
Flo said.
There was another pause. Lin knew that they did not want to push her into
taking such a risk. But she knew the possible consequence if she didn't.

The Celts would be no more gentle than the Romans had been, and they had a
keen sense of justice. How well they all knew that, being Celts themselves!
"I'll do it," she said, more firmly than she felt.
Flo nodded. "You have courage." That was a considerable compliment, because
Flo did not make empty statements.
The meeting was in the nearby town, Camulodunum, the major settlement of the
Trinovantes, where Lin was not well known. That helped. Because if she were
recognized, she could be in trouble. The Romans governed the town, but a
number of prominent Britons had reassured the officials that all was well, so
they were not alert to the real nature of the gathering. All known associates
of the Romans were rigorously excluded, unless they had suitable credentials
as true patriots of the land.
It turned out that though Boudica herself was elsewhere, her daughters would
indeed attend the meeting. It seemed that these things carried more conviction
if one of the victims of the Roman atrocity was present. That was what Lin
needed to know. She dressed in male guise and had no trouble getting in; she
was obviously a young Briton.
The hall was crowded. There was no formal program; instead there was a rising
tide of emotion. Lin realized why: they did not dare speak openly of
rebellion, because word would get out to the Romans, who would then ruthlessly
suppress it. But they were fomenting a general emotional state that would make
rebellion easier to accept when the time came.
An old woman cried out dire prophecies of doom and desolation. "Have we not
seen the statue of Victory fall and lie face down on the ground, presenting
its back in surrender," she cried, in a thinly veiled allusion to the Romans.
"Have we not seen apparitions in the Thames? Blood-red tides, washing things
ashore that resemble human corpses?" She spoke metaphorically, for the Thames
did not flow through Camulodunum. But they had all heard the spooky stories.
It was easy to believe that there had indeed been such omens elsewhere.
"Yes! Yes!" others echoed.
Then a man started speaking in tongues, sing-songing unintelligible words.
Others hummed, and keened, and the level of sound rose. Lin felt herself being
tugged by the feeling of it, but fought it, because she was here for another
purpose. Her sympathies were with the Britons of course, but before she could
yield to them she had to accomplish her mission.
She moved among the people, searching for the princess. Apparently the girl
was taking no active part in the event, merely lending it authenticity by her
presence.
Lin spied her, standing between two stout men. She approached diffidently.
"Princess -- " she began.
One of the men reached out and caught her arm. "What's this? A spy?"
"No!" Lin cried. "I'm a friend of Princess Wildflower! I tried to save her! I
gave her a necklace!" She tore off her close cap and let her hair fall free.
Now the princess's eyes widened with recognition. "You were the one! You
warned me, but I did not listen." She glanced at the guard, and he immediately
let Lin go. "But why do you come to me now? Is there a spy here to kill me?"
"No," Lin said quickly. "None that I know of. It is for myself I come. I

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must beg a favor of you, Princess."
"You come to one who was ravished and demeaned and made powerless, for a
favor?"
"Oh, Princess, you know I serve a Roman master. All other Romans deserve
destruction, but this one has been good to us. Please, please, spare him."
"What authority do you think I have, that I can help a Roman?"
"If your mother tells them to bypass his estate, which is our estate --
"

Wildflower pursed her lips. "It is hard for me to speak favor of any
Roman."
"I know. I -- I saw what they did to you. I don't want it to happen to me. But
it was our Roman who bid me warn you of the danger."
The princess's mouth fell slightly open. "He bid you?"
"He said the procurator was out to make an example. He said he, as a
Roman, could not speak against it, but if someone else did -- "
"So you came to me," Wildflower agreed, nodding. "I dismissed your warning,
and paid a hideous price. It was a folly I will never forget. Very well: this
time I will heed your words. I will speak to my mother. But tell your Roman to
stay on his land, because if he ventures from it, there will be no recourse."
"I will! I will! Oh, thank you, Princess! Thank you!" Lin dropped to her knees
and kissed Wildflower's hand.
"Don't thank me," Wildflower said, embarrassed. "My mother may not listen."
Then she drew her hand away. "What is his name?"
"Centurion Ittai."
"I will see. But I don't know. Mother is extremely angry."
But Lin was satisfied. She had obtained the commitment she had come for.
The revolt came suddenly, while Governor Suetonius Paulinus was campaigning in
Wales, conquering the Druid stronghold at Mona. Most of the
Roman forces were with him in the west, leaving almost nothing to counter the
uprising in the east. The Roman forces were caught wildly unprepared. The
family received news from the Britons who rushed to join the fray, and Romans
who were dismayed by it.
Centurion Ittai had sent word to the authorities in Camulodunum to expect
trouble, and to shore up the Roman defenses, but he had been ignored, as
expected. Now the Romans were desperate. They sent to Londinium for
reinforcements, but Procurator Catus sent only 200 men.
Meanwhile Queen Boudica's army marched on the city, numbering perhaps a
hundred thousand men. The town was without fortifications, and had few strong
points. The Britons quickly captured it and burned it. The defenders made a
final stand in the Temple of Claudius, holding out for two days before the
building was stormed. They were slaughtered.
As soon as the sacking was finished, Boudica's army prepared to move southwest
toward Londinium. But first it moved northwest. It bypassed the region where
Lin's family lived, and Lin knew that Princess Wildflower's intercession was
responsible. Instead it went to meet a force of five thousand
Romans from Lindum, all that they could muster on short notice. The Britons
ambushed the column along the margin of the fens. The Roman infantry was cut
to pieces. Only the cavalry managed to return to Lindum. Thus the only force
in eastern Britain capable of meeting Boudica in the field had been decimated.
Then the action got more immediate. Centurion Ittai received orders from
Governor Suetonius: he was being reactivated, and had to join Suetonius in
Londinium forthwith.
"I was afraid of this," Ittai said ruefully. "That idiot Catus set off an
uprising that is a major embarrassment to Rome, and now I must participate.
I am a naval officer, not a commander of land forces, but when Rome is in
peril, all must serve as they are able. I will deed the estate to my wife, in
the event I do not return."
"Oh no you don't!" Jes protested. "I'm not sending you out alone to die!

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I'm going with you."
"But women are not allowed in combat."
"But officers have young male squires."
He looked at her. "I will die in the service of Rome if that is required of
me, but I do not want my wife put at unnecessary risk. You are young, and -

- "
"You are part of my family now," Jes said. "You have saved our estate;
we look after you too. Someone must go with you, and it ought to be me."
"But -- "
"Suppose you are killed in battle, and we get no word? We would not know what
to do. One of us must be with you."
It was clear that Ittai did not want Jes along, and not because he did not
love her. He wanted her well away from danger. "There is merit in what you
say," he said slowly. "But have you considered this: If you are with me, you
are at increased risk of dying too. If we both die, the estate will be lost,
because I can deed it only to my wife, not a native. Rome recognizes such
rights only for its citizens. Then your whole family will suffer. Have you the
right to put your brothers and sisters at such unnecessary risk?"
Jes froze. He had scored. This was the one time she should not be with him.
The others were nodding agreement.
"Another family member can accompany me," Ittai said, following up his
advantage. "One who can be spared, no offense to any of you. Perhaps Bry."
"He is working on the wall with Sam," Flo said. "In these troubled times, we
need that wall finished soon."
"I'll do it," Lin said.
Both Ittai and Jes frowned. "A girl in battle conditions -- " Ittai started.
"Untrained in weapons -- " Jes continued.
"A boy. A squire," Lin said quickly. "And I know the princess."
"What has that to do with it?" Ittai demanded.
"I got her to have her mother bypass this region," Lin. said. "If you get
wounded, maybe I can get her to get her mother to spare you." It was far-
fetched, but all she could think of at the moment.
But Jes accepted it. "That just might work. Anything that promotes my
husband's likely survival -- "
"I don't want to share close quarters with my wife's little sister,"
Ittai said. "The propriety -- "
"She's a child," Flo said. "There is no -- "
"She's a lovely nascent young woman."
That caught Lin by surprise. She blushed.
"She is that," Ned said.
The others looked to Jes. She considered for a moment, then decided. "I
trust my husband, and my sister. Go."
But now Lin wasn't sure. "I never -- "
Ittai lifted his hands in surrender. "We have no time for such debate.
Perhaps I spoke inappropriately. Pass as a boy, Lin, and I will treat you as
one."
"And don't let him be seduced by any camp followers," Jes said with a rueful
smile.
Now Ittai was embarrassed. "I never -- "
Then they all laughed. It was decided.
They rode out next morning, on good horses. Lin was garbed as a squire, and
Ittai referred to her as male from the outset, so as never to slip and give
her away. Londinium was a day's easy ride distant, so they did not have to
hurry, but they did have to keep moving.
"We must establish some rules of association," Ittai said as they paused to
eat and to water the horses. "I must keep you close, which means we must share
quarters, but I prefer that there be no embarrassment to either of us."
"Treat me with the unconscious contempt due a young servant," she said.

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"It's the only safe way."
"In public, yes. I'm glad you understand. But in private -- "
"The same. The land has ears."

"And if there is violence, warn me and get clear. You will guard my
possessions and carry messages, and otherwise be invisible."
"Yes, sir." She knew this mission was dangerous, but she was rather enjoying
it. Had it been like this when Jes first met him?
"And keep your gloves on. By my order, if anyone asks."
"Yes, sir." This went beyond possible embarrassment. If any stranger saw her
sixth finger, in this troubled time, it might be taken as an omen of evil,
leading to instant mayhem.
They reached Londinium in the evening. It was a huge city, bigger than
anything she had seen before; it just spread out and out. It was also a
worried city, because the people knew that Boudica's terrible army was on its
way. Would the Romans be able to defend it?
They rode to the garrison headquarters. It was in near panic. Ittai identified
himself to the harried magistrate there. "Where is Procurator Catus
Decianus?" Ittai demanded. "I must report to him."
"Sir, he departed this morning for the continent, with his staff, family, and
belongings."
Ittai swore a mighty oath. "So the rat deserts the ship, his own folly holed!"
"If you say so, sir," the magistrate said, trying to suppress a bitter smile.
He could not speak thus of his superior, but he could appreciate it when a
higher officer did.
"Where is Governor Suetonius?"
"On the way, sir. We expect him tomorrow."
"Who is your ranking officer?"
"I am, sir. Or rather, you are, now."
Ittai swore again. It was a delight to listen to. "I know nothing of the
defenses or apparatus here. Carry on as best you can, and I will report to
Suetonius when he arrives. Just assign me a room for the night."
"There are plenty available, sir. Perhaps you should take Catus's former
residence."
"That surely will be considerably more than adequate."
Indeed it was. The procurator's residence was palatial, with a frightened
staff left without order. Ittai gave some, and they obeyed eagerly, glad for
some semblance of restored order. He and Lin had a fairly good evening meal,
with her tasting each item of his food first. This was a standard precaution
against possible poisoning, and it showed the servants the nature of their
relationship. Should she get suddenly sick, there would be a savagely enraged
officer to fear. Not because of any value of the squire, but because of the
effort to assassinate the officer.
Fortunately there was no problem. After the meal, Lin managed to talk with
some of the servants, who naturally took her for one of them, and learned that
the wife of one of the fleeing officials had been a beautiful woman named
Wona. Lin concealed her surprise. It was surely the same woman they had known,
once Sam's faithless wife. Wona was evidently in the kind of company she
liked.
Ittai stretched, and retired to the sumptuous bedchamber suite, followed
meekly by the squire. "Disgusting," he muttered as he looked around. "The toad
certainly treated himself well."
"I'll sleep on a blanket by the door," Lin said.
"No, just block it with something, and take the bed in the other room.
It has its own bath facilities."
"But -- "
"When Queen Boudica gets here, all this will be burned. We might as well get
some use of it."
She nodded and took the alternate room. This meant that she was able to strip

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and wash without concern. This continued to be a fine adventure,

heightened by the tension of coming violence.
The cavalry arrived next day, led by Governor Suetonius. Ittai reported, but
the governor was tired and distracted. "Is Poenius Postumus here?" he
demanded. "He was supposed to rendezvous with me outside the city, but we
didn't see him."
"He is not here," Ittai said.
"And the procurator?"
"Fled to the continent yesterday, with his family and possessions."
"What are our resources?"
"Only those you bring with you, sir."
"And the enemy?"
"Closing fast."
Suetonius made a gesture as of tearing his hair. "We have neither time nor
resources to organize a defense. Do we have even the capability to evacuate?"
"No, sir."
"Then we must abandon the city. It's a black day for Rome."
"Black, indeed," Ittai agreed. "And for Londinium."
"I will assemble those citizens who can provide their own mounts, and take
them into my column. Take some men and burn the city's grain stores.
Anything beyond what you can carry conveniently out with you. Then join me in
my ignominious retreat."
"Done, sir." Ittai saluted and got to work.
They loaded grain on their horses, then lit torches and set fire to the
granary. Lin felt horribly adventurous and evil as she wielded her torch,
knowing that this act meant likely starvation for many, but this was the
nature of war. She watched the fire rise, fascinated despite, or because of,
her horror of its significance.
They rejoined Suetonius as the smoke piled into the sky. "Just in time,"
the governor muttered. "The woman's minions are already entering the city. Had
they been one day earlier, we would have been done for."
As they made their way out of the city, it seemed to Lin that she could hear
the angry roar of the Britons, furious that their prey had escaped. And in the
following days, the reports of the savagery Queen Boudica visited on the city
were horrendous. It was apparent that vengeance and violence, not wealth or
power, were the chief goals of the Celts. There had been some hope that the
queen would hold the city for ransom, therefore not harming it much, but she
did not. The population, guilty because it had been satisfied under
Roman rule, was slaughtered by gibbet, fire, and cross. There was a mass
sacrifice of women in the sacred groves of Andrasta, the goddess of war and
fertility. Nearby cities were also sacked. It did not matter if the
inhabitants were Celts rather than Romans; they received no mercy at the hands
of the rebels.
Lin had had much sympathy for the Britons, who were after all her people,
especially since she had seen the Roman brutality toward Boudica and her
daughters. But this faded as the dreadful reports came in. At least Romans had
not slaughtered Romans, and their brutality had been narrowly targeted. In
contrast, anyone of either camp close to Queen Boudica was in deadly danger.
Her violence had become pointless, as there was no vengeance to be had from
the actual perpetrators, Catus and his guards.
By the time Boudica's forces moved out of Londinium, reliable estimates put
the total number of those slaughtered at 70,000 people. And of course immense
damage had been done to the physical city. All because the queen had been
flogged, and her daughters raped.
Meanwhile Suetonius had been marshaling his scant forces. Between the defeats
already suffered, and the abdication or mutiny of lieutenants, he was able to
gather only the pitifully small force of 10,000 infantry and cavalry.

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Boudica moved out of Londinium with a force perhaps ten times that size,
intent on catching the Romans and destroying the last vestige of their power
in Britain. This was to be the final showdown.
"Perhaps it is time for you to return home," Ittai told Lin. "You have been a
good squire, but there is no need for you to participate in what is coming."
He wanted her to carry word of the disaster back to the family, so that they
would know which side to back, and thus avoid likely mischief. He also did not
want her to see what was about to happen.
But she couldn't do it. "The battle has not yet been fought," she said
bravely. "So my job is not yet done."
"But once it starts, there may be no escape. You know how the queen's army
is."
She knew. But she couldn't simply flee, leaving him to his likely fate.
"I must stay until I know."
He sighed. "You remind me of your sister."
"Thank you."
"But perhaps I have an alternative. You may be able to witness the battle from
a safer vantage."
"Safer?"
"You know the princess. Go to her."
"But -- "
"The queen has kept her daughters with her during the campaign. They suffered
as sorely as she did. Their presence incites the masses to further mayhem.
They share her command tent."
"I know. But -- "
"The princess will want you to watch the battle. She will reject your plea,
but she will accept your presence, because of what you tried to do for her.
Her mother should spare you, to carry the news home. It will represent
vindication for the Celts."
"But not for me!" Lin protested, tears flowing.
He shrugged. "What will be, will be. At least we will be better assured that
you will return safely home."
She had to go. It did make sense. Her mission was to report to her family,
whatever the nature of the news, and this would facilitate it. It was risky,
approaching the princess, but not as risky as remaining with the Roman force.
So that night she left, going quietly in the boy role she had perfected.
The Roman sentries did not challenge her.
The Celtic camp was a far more boisterous thing. It had sentries, but they
were drinking and carousing, hardly paying attention. Indeed, what did they
have to worry about? A surprise attack by the tiny Roman force? So it was easy
to enter the camp, and to locate the palatial tent of the queen. It was in a
separate compound in the center of the camp.
She approached the guard. This one was alert; Boudica was taking no chances
with her own person. "I need to see Princess Wildflower," Lin said timidly.
"She is too young to accept a lover," he said.
But not too young to be raped. "I am no lover," she said, drawing off her cap
as she had before.
"The Roman's girl!" he exclaimed, recognizing her by reputation. "You she will
see."
Princess Wildflower came out. "Lin! What are you doing here?"
"I come to plead for the life of -- "
Wildflower's mouth turned hard. "No. I told you he had to keep to his own
demesnes. All Romans in Britain must die."
"I had to try," Lin said. That was no lie; she wished she could have

gained her brother-in-law another reprieve. But there would be no reprieve
here.
"Come in," the princess said. "But you may not bring a weapon inside. I

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must search you."
"I have only a knife," Lin said, bringing it out and proffering it hilt first.
"Even so. I believe you, but my mother has strict orders." She drew Lin into a
lesser tent, where a candle burned. "Strip."
Lin complied. In a moment she stood naked. She wished her body had developed,
because she felt worse naked as a child than she would have naked as a woman.
Wildflower brought out a feminine robe, which Lin donned. Then she noticed the
gloves. "Them, too."
Reluctantly, Lin drew them off. Her malformed hands was exposed.
The princess stared. "Oh, I didn't know! I'm sorry. There could have been a
weapon -- a spike or something. But you will have to leave the gloves off. My
mother will have to see."
"I -- I would rather not meet your mother."
Wildflower laughed. "Nobody wants to meet my mother. But it must be.
Come." She drew Lin after her, to the larger tent.
Queen Boudica was there, huge and fearsome. Her red hair swirled about her,
and her eyes glittered in the candlelight.
"Mother, this is Lin -- the girl who tried to warn us."
"The Roman girl!" the queen exclaimed, looking ferocious. Her voice was loud
and harsh. Lin quailed.
"The Celt girl who begged us to flee the Romans," Wildflower said firmly. "But
we wouldn't listen."
"So what is she warning us about this time? To flee the battle lest we be
destroyed?"
Lin tried to speak, but could not.
"She came to beg mercy for the Roman."
Boudica laughed. "Plead mercy for yourself, girl; you were a fool to come
here." She drew a knife with a wickedly shining blade.
Wildflower stepped in front of her. "Mother -- I granted her sanctuary.
She's my friend."
"She's a creature of the Romans!" Boudica made a threatening step.
"Mother!"
The queen relented. "Oh, very well. But she must make an oath of peace and
friendship."
Wildflower turned to Lin. "See, she likes you." Even the queen had to smile,
briefly, at that. "Will you make the oath?"
"But -- but I am loyal to -- "
"Yes. If you are loyal to your own, you will be loyal to those you oath.
You would never have come here, if you did not have courage and honor. My
mother must be assured that you mean no harm to us."
Lin was amazed. "I -- I -- yes, I can make that oath." There was a pause, and
she realized that she hadn't phrased it properly. "I do make that oath."
"Then take back your knife," Wildflower said, proffering it.
"But -- "
"You are no threat to us now, are you?"
"No, of course not. But -- "
"Take it," Boudica said impatiently.
Lin accepted her knife. "I -- I thank you for your trust, Queen
Boudica."
"Sit down and tell us why you are really here," the queen said, sitting
herself. "As a friend would."

Lin took the indicated cushion. "My -- the Roman didn't want me in his camp.
He said that once the battle began, there would be no escape. I am sister to
his wife, and he feared that harm would come to me."
"Centurion Ittai is bearing arms?" Boudica asked sharply.
"Yes. He was summoned, and he had to go."
"We spared him once, on condition that he stay clear of us," the queen said
gravely. "Now he must die."

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"He -- he knows that. He said the procurator was an idiot who had set off the
uprising, and a rat who deserted the ship his own folly had sunk. But he had
to obey the order."
The queen did not seem fully displeased with this news. "There are qualities
to be respected, even in a Roman. But if you went back and told him to depart
tonight, avoiding the battle, would he go?"
"No. He obeys his orders."
"So he must die. He is too competent to spare."
Lin nodded sadly. "Yes."
"But he arranged for you to be spared," Wildflower said.
"Yes."
"You will watch the battle tomorrow," Boudica said. "If you see him go down,
and if you can reach him before he dies, stand over him with this tassel, and
he may yet be spared." She produced a large red section of intricately woven
cloth.
"Oh, thank you, Queen Boudica!" Lin exclaimed, her tears flowing.
"It will probably be too late," the queen said gruffly, and turned away.
"Come," Wildflower said, and led Lin to another section of the compound tent.
Lin gazed at the tassel. "Why -- ?"
"Because you came before with the knowledge of the Roman. He knew what we did
not, and tried to spare us. And when it happened, he faced away in disgust."
"How could you know that?"
"We saw you with him. We knew who he was. We saw how he hated what was
happening. We saw that none of his party participated. We suffered for our own
folly, not heeding him. My mother remembers her friends -- and even her
enemies, if they show conscience."
"So does Centurion Ittai."
"Yes. So probably he will die, but it will be with honor, and your estate will
not be ravaged." Wildflower paused. "And I do thank you for what you tried to
do for me. I was a fool, and I paid for it. Now no man will marry me, unless
he is forced. My mother will not say that, but she knows. We will see that you
return safely home."
"Thank you," Lin said faintly.
They settled down for bed and sleep. The tent was not as opulent as the
quarters in Londinium had been, but was much nicer than the ground outside
would have been.
The next day the two forces arrayed for battle. Wildflower guided Lin to a
large wagon set up behind the arrayed force of the Britons. It was in the
center of a long line of carts and wagons and standing women. The wives of the
soldiers had gathered to watch the slaughter of the hated Romans.
It took some time for the Celts to array their forces. There was much cursing
and jostling. Lin also overheard complaints about the food: it seemed that
there was not much to be had, because the Romans had destroyed the granaries
before the Celts could occupy Londinium. But they were sure that there would
be plenty, once the Romans had been dispatched.
Lin got up on the wagon as high as she could, trying to peer over the
Celts to see the Romans. Wildflower and her sister joined her. They piled
additional planks, making a taller platform, and then they were able to see

all the way across the field to where the Romans were assembled. Their array
looked pitifully small, backed up against a forest.
"They don't even have anywhere for their wagons to flee," Wildflower remarked.
"They don't intend to flee," Lin said.
The princess glanced at her with compassion. "They are brave, at any rate. It
will be over soon."
Surely so. But now Lin remembered things about the Romans. How tough they were
in close quarters, or on a field of their own choosing. How their equipment
and discipline counted. She knew that Ittai, though not trained for land
combat, was a competent commander of men, and excellent general strategist.

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Jes had told of his proficiency and courage in sea engagements.
Lin remembered how Ittai had complimented Suetonius's ability in the field.
These Romans were no longer fleeing; they had elected to stand on ground of
their own choosing, and they would be tough.
But could they be tough enough? Could 10,000 Romans, no matter how well
equipped and disciplined, possibly hold their own against a hundred thousand
savage warriors? It didn't seem likely. Especially since the Celts wouldn't
give any quarter. They were out to kill every Roman in Britain. Except
possibly Ittai, if he fell and lay still, but wasn't killed outright. If she
could get to him in time. And the queen hadn't promised him freedom, just
life, maybe.
"I'm glad we aren't close enough to see the blood," Wildflower said.
"We've seen enough of that already."
Surely so! This whole business had been so unnecessary, such a waste.
All because of the arrogant coward Catus.
At last the Britons were ready. They were divided into tribal contingents.
Their several forces of chariots charged forward, whooping savagely, eager to
draw the first blood. Lin saw them sweep in several masses at the Roman lines,
to hurl their javelins, trying to cause fear and confusion among the enemy
troops. But the Romans didn't budge. They simply stood there at the top of a
slight slope, evidently dispersing the chariot changes with concentrated fire
from the archers in their auxiliaries. The chariots tried to get around the
Roman flanks, but those were too well protected by rough terrain and the close
forest. So there just didn't seem to be much way for the chariots to have
effect. All they could do was swoop by, taunting the Romans, daring them to
come out and get chopped to pieces, and retreat.
Finally the Celts decided to charge in a mass. Lin quailed, knowing that the
troops on foot would not be turned aside by slopes or trees or even arrows;
there were too many of them. They could take losses of thousands, and still
overwhelm the defenders by sheer numbers.
The Romans did not move. Their lines remained still and straight as the ragged
swarm surged close. Then, as the two forces almost converged, there was a
hesitation.
"What happened?" Wildflower asked, perplexed.
"The Romans discharged their javelins at close range," Lin said. "They waited
until the enemy was too close to avoid them."
Indeed, the front of the Celtic line seemed to shake, and shake again, as the
second barrage of javelins was hurled. Then the Roman lines moved.
"What's happening?" Wildflower asked, this time somewhat plaintively.
"The Roman infantry is advancing to attack," Lin said, relying on her memory
of Roman tactics more than anything she could actually see. For now the two
forces were merging, and the center was a mass of nothing distinguishable.
But she knew that the Romans were charging in wedge formation, striking the
Celtic lines in much the manner of a hammered peg, splintering it. Such
contact was devastating, and the Celts would not be able to fight well. The
Romans had short swords which were very good for stabbing in close quarters.

The Celts had long slashing blades which were good when there was space, but
almost as dangerous to friends as foes in tight places.
For a moment, Lin visualized a sea battle Ittai had described, where the more
numerous enemy ships had gotten crowded together, unable to fight properly.
The distantly seen motions of the land forces seemed to resemble that.
Then the Roman cavalry charged the Celtic flanks. The Celts, jammed in
together, were unable to maneuver well, and could not effectively face the
enemy.
"What's happening?" Wildflower asked once more, confused.
"The Romans are winning," Lin said, amazed. She was seeing it happen, yet she
could hardly believe it.
"But how can that be? There are so few!"

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"Better discipline, better equipment," Lin said wisely. These had been mere
concepts to her before; now she appreciated their reality. Centurion
Ittai would probably survive!
"But we have so many!"
"That's the problem. They are getting in each other's way," Then Lin saw
something else. "Oops."
"What is it?" the princess asked, distracted.
"The Roman cavalry is coming here. We had better get clear in a hurry."
"But we can't go! Mother said -- "
"She'll have to look out for herself. We're in trouble. Come on; jump off the
wagon and flee away from the Romans. Both of you," she called, including the
other princess.
"I'm not going," the other protested. "We can't lose."
"Then come on, Wildflower!" Lin cried, tugging the princess along with her as
the horses charged up.
The two of them ran as fleetly as they could, hearing the thunder of the
horses' hooves. Soon, breathless, they paused to look back.
The Romans were overturning the wagons and carts. The women were running and
screaming, but they weren't being chased. That was another sign of a
disciplined army: no plunder or rapine along the way. They were intent on
winning the battle first. But why did they want to prevent the women from
riding away?
Then it came clear. The Celtic army was now in confused retreat. It surged
back toward the wagons -- and couldn't pass them, because Roman archers were
firing at them from the cover of the wagons, and the horsemen were patrolling
immediately behind. It was a deadly trap.
A woman screamed. Lin looked, and saw her fall. The Romans were killing the
women too!
"We must get away from here!" she said, and half dragged the princess into a
second run.
They were not pursued, and soon were able to slow to a walk. They were safe,
for the moment. But where were they to go now? No place would be safe for the
princess, now that Rome had triumphed.
The decision was as swift as the question. "You must stay with me," Lin said.
"We must get male clothing. When night falls, I'll take you to Centurion
Ittai. He will protect you."
Vacant-eyed, Wildflower nodded. Lin realized that the princess had just
suffered a second shock, perhaps as bad as when she had been raped and seen
her mother flogged.
They were able to find clothing at a nearby deserted house -- possibly its
master had been killed in the battle, or merely fled the dangerous scene -
- and after dark Lin took the princess to the Roman camp. A guard challenged
them, but she called out the password, and they were admitted.
"Lin!" Ittai cried, recognizing her as soon as she came in sight. He was

not even wounded. "I feared for you." Then he paused, looking at Wildflower.
"Who -- "
"Another boy, just like me," Lin said quickly. "I promised sanctuary."
"Just like you," he repeated thoughtfully. "Then he had better stay close to
you, until we return home in a few days. The family will decide."
By that token, he indicated that he knew the identity of the princess, and
would allow her to seek sanctuary with the family. He had not approved of her
raping, and would not approve of her killing. And Lin was sure the family
would not turn her away, knowing that there would be no safe place for her in
Britain. Any more than there would have been any safe place for Romans, had
the battle gone the other way.
But there was something they needed to know. "What happened to the queen?" Lin
asked him.
"She got away. We don't know what happened to her daughters; they may be with

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her."
Lin saw Wildflower relax a trifle. At least she knew that her mother still
lived.
The Roman historians reported 80,000 Celtic deaths, compared to 400
Roman deaths, and a greater number of casualties. The rebellion was over. The
remaining pockets of resistance were hunted out and exterminated. The Iceni
Queen Boudica escaped, but died soon after; it is uncertain whether she
poisoned herself or was taken by disease. The fate of her two daughters is
unknown; they may have died, or may have faded into anonymity. Rome maintained
power in Britain until the Roman Empire fragmented in the fifth century A.D.
The Angles, the Saxons, and the Jutes then invaded, and it became Angle Land,
or England.
Chapter 13 -- SLAVE
In the sixth century A.D. the Roman Empire fell apart and was settled largely
by "barbarian" tribes. But the Eastern Roman, or Byzantine, Empire survived,
extending its hegemony over most of the eastern Mediterranean region. The
westward surge of Mongol and Turkish tribes continued, and
Slovenoi or Sclavini tribes moved west and south.
The Romans were as adept at playing barbarian politics as were the
Chinese in the east. The emperor in Constantinople incited the Avars into
action against other tribes that were harassing the borders of the empire. The
Avars, nothing loath, quickly conquered the Bulgars, who were descendants of
the Huns, and assimilated them into their own horde. Then they moved against
the Antes and the Slavs. They defeated the former, but rather than war against
the latter they made peace, because their real objective was to raid the
richer Frankish kingdom beyond. Thus the Avar power extended through the large
Slav territory, amicably. The Avars met the Franks to the west, but the
Franks, under Sigibert, defeated them in battle. The Avars, under their new
Khagan Bayan, beat the Franks in a second pitched battle, but Sigibert fared
well enough to negotiate a peace and obtain Bayan's agreement to withdraw
beyond the Elbe River.
The Avars then focused their attention farther to the east, allying with the
Longobards (Lombards) to destroy the Germanic Gepid tribes in the modern
region of Hungary. The Lombards then migrated into Italy, while Avars and
Slavs filled in their former territories. Meanwhile the Slavs were raiding and
looting Byzantine settlements in the Balkans, north of modern Greece, so the
Roman emperor persuaded Bayan to march against his sometime allies. Bayan
first asked them to submit willingly and pay tribute, but they rejected the
notion and killed his envoys. This was of course asking for trouble. The Avars

crossed the Danube and sacked several Slav villages. The Avars were horsemen,
and the Slavs, fighting on foot, could not match them. But they avoided heavy
losses by fading into the marshes and forests.
Later the fickle nature of politics made the Avars and Slavs allies again, as
they raided Byzantine provinces. Some Slav tribes were independent, while
others were treated as tyrannized subject peoples. Overall, they were
definitely in the shadow of the Avars, forced to give way to them and pay
tribute. It was not a situation the Slavs enjoyed, in the early seventh
century. But what could they do?
The setting is just north of the Adriatic Sea, at the fringe of what is
nominally the Eastern Roman Empire, in the mountains of what came to be modern
day Austria, in the year A.D. 623.
THE FIRST THING SAM NOTICED about the prisoner was that he was a Frank.
He was bedraggled and downcast, of course; he wore a collar of tough rope and
his hands were tied behind him. His Avar captor would have yanked the rope
tight enough to choke, at any sign of resistance. Captives learned very
quickly to behave, or they died.
Sam himself had a nice gold vase, his booty from the successful raid on the
Byzantine town. He had learned to be choosy, taking only what he could

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conveniently carry some distance home without tiring. Gold was the best for
that. So he was well set.
Now he did something stupid. He joined the Avar, whom he did not know
personally; Slavs as a rule did not cultivate the acquaintance of Avars,
though they were nominally allies. "Mind if I share your fire a moment, before
I trek home?"
The Avar looked up with annoyance, then his eye measured the size and muscle
of the intruder. "Suit yourself, Slav." The Avar was chewing on dark bread.
Sam set his vase carefully in front of him, in the process turning it so that
it reflected the light of the flames. He dug out his own dark bread and began
to gnaw.
The Avar stared at the vase. "Where'd you find that? I couldn't find any
gold."
"I poked into the crevices of a burned-out house. I thought something good
might be hidden there, and I was right."
"You sure were! That thing is beautiful." He meant in terms of riches, not
art; Avar raiders didn't care about art.
"But it's pretty heavy. Be a burden to carry all the way home. I see you don't
have that problem."
The Avar laughed. "Right! My booty is mobile. But you got the better deal,
Slav. You don't have to feed your gold."
Sam glanced at the prisoner, as if only now becoming aware of him. "I
don't know. Sometimes they have skills that bring a good price on the slave
market. Where's he from? He doesn't look Roman."
"I don't know. I didn't ask him. He speaks some foreign language."
"Maybe I can find out. May I question him?"
"Sure."
Sam addressed the prisoner. "What are you?" he asked in Slavic.
There was no response. "Answer him!" the warrior snapped, jerking on the rope.
The prisoner winced; it was clear that the rope chafed his neck, and he did
not want more punishment. "Frank," he said. That meant that he had understood
the Slavic words.
Sam spoke a little Frankish, learned from his wife.
"What is your skill?" he asked in somewhat halting Frankish.
"I am a trader."

"What's he saying?" the Avar asked.
"He says he's a trader."
"He's probably lying. Traders are smart."
"A trader?" Sam asked the prisoner. "How did you get taken captive?"
The Frank grimaced. "I was in the wrong place, the wrong time."
Sam translated that.
"For sure!" the warrior said, laughing. "Still, it would be nice if he is a
trader; better price. Can you verify it?"
"I'll try," Sam said. "A trader should be able to put a fair price on this
vase. You judge it, and we'll see if his price matches."
The Avar squinted at the vase. "May I heft it?"
"By all means."
The warrior picked up the vase, and tapped it with a knuckle before setting it
down again.
"If you are a trader," Sam said to the Frank, "you should be able to price
this vase. What is it worth?"
"Four bushels of wheat," the man replied promptly.
"But you didn't even heft it, or really look at it," Sam protested.
"Ask the Avar," the Frank said.
Sam turned to the Avar. "He says four bushels of wheat."
The man was surprised. "By Svarog, he's right!" the Avar said, swearing by a
Slavic god. "That's how I priced it."
"How could you tell, without hefting it for weight?" Sam asked the

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Frank.
"I know my business. I have handled many such vases. I know such goods well."
Evidently so. "Are you literate?" Sam asked.
The Frank looked thoughtfully at him. "Are you pricing me?"
"My wife's Frankish."
The Frank nodded, understanding Sam's interest. A captor with a Frankish wife
would likely be a better master than one who didn't even know the language.
"Yes, I am literate."
Sam turned to the Avar. "He says he's literate, and has handled many such
vases. That's how he knows the value."
The warrior nodded. "I heard."
"You understand his words?" Sam asked, surprised. "Then why did you have me
translate?"
"To see if you were straight. Want to trade? Him for the vase?"
"Yes. We could use a literate man. But he may be worth more than the vase."
"Are you?" the Avar asked the Frank in Avarish.
"Yes," the Frank replied in the same language.
"He may be lying," the Avar said.
"A literate trader who speaks three languages? He's worth a lot." For now Sam
was sure the Frank knew both Slavic and Avarish.
"Maybe to you, if you manage the sale right. He's too smart; he makes me
nervous. When will I sleep, with a cunning prisoner? I'll settle for the gold;
it's sure."
"Done," Sam said.
"Done." They shook hands. Then Sam picked up the vase and proffered it, and
the Avar handed him the end of the rope.
When they were on their way back to Sam's village, the Frank spoke again. "Why
did you want me?"
"Are you trustworthy?"
"No trader is trustworthy. He has to make a living."
"To your friends."
"You are not my friend. You are my captor."

Sam handed him the end of the rope. "I swore to my wife not to abuse any
Franks. I love my wife. I give you your freedom, asking only that you repay me
your value if you ever have opportunity."
"You surprise me, Slav." He considered. "I accept your bargain. I will call
you friend." He picked up a clod of earth and set it on top of his head, in
the Slav manner. This made the oath binding.
"Then go, friend," Sam said, impressed by the way the Frank knew the
Slav culture. But of course traders made it their business to know about those
with whom they dealt. The oath might not mean as much to a Frank as to a Slav.
"But I have not yet repaid you my value."
"You haven't had the chance. We may meet again some year."
"And we may not. I prefer to remain with you until I make the repayment."
"As you wish. My wife will be glad to meet you."
"I would be helpless alone, without money or weapon."
Sam reached for a knife to give the man, but the Frank demurred. "I am already
too much in debt to you. I'll manage."
Sam shrugged. He hoped he had done the right thing.
The Frank put his fingers to the rope, but the knot did not readily yield.
"Will you help me with this?"
Sam drew his sword. He put it carefully to the rope by the man's neck, and
sawed until the strands separated. The skin beneath was red and raw from the
chafing.
Sam brought out a small jar of balm he carried in case of injury, and
proffered it. The Frank scooped out some and smeared it on his sore neck. "I
thank you, friend."
They walked on toward the village. When night came, Sam shared the last of his

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traveling food, then lay down to sleep. The Frank lay a reasonable distance
away, and did not stir. Sam could sleep lightly when he chose, and he trusted
no one completely when out on a raid; associates could be almost as dangerous
as enemies. But the Frank made no effort of treachery. He was being true to
his oath of friendship.
The next morning they arrived at Sam's village, which was nestled in the
protection of a dense forest. Several clans were there, their family houses
set close together. They went to Sam's family house -- where little sister Lin
spied them. "Sam!" she cried, loudly enough to alert the others, and flung
herself into his arms.
Then she looked at the Frank, turning abruptly shy. "I am a friend of
Sam's, owing him a debt," the Frank said. "I am glad to meet you, pretty
maiden."
Lin blushed. Her long braid and bare head signaled her status as maiden.
Snow appeared, and embraced Sam ardently. "You are uninjured," she said with
evident relief. "What did you get?"
"Nothing, this time," Sam said.
"He got me -- and freed me," the Frank said.
Snow stared at him, surprised. "You are -- "
"Another Frank," he said. "A trader, captured in a raid, enslaved, freed for
the price of my value -- which I have yet to repay. But I assure you, I
will repay it." He did not pay her a compliment, because her kerchief and
short hair signaled her married status, apart from her obvious relation to
Sam. A compliment to another man's wife could be taken as desire for her.
After that, the Frank became part of the family for a time, while his neck and
bruises healed: Flo gave him a piece of amber to trade, and a day later he
brought her back a fine copper necklace. Ittai gave him a larger piece of
amber, and he returned with a healthy sheep. Uncertain about the legitimacy of
this, Jes had him take her along the trading chain he had managed, and
discovered that all those he had traded with were satisfied. The

Frank was simply very good at judging values, and at persuading others that
they needed what he had to offer. The right item at the right time could be
worth more to a particular person than it seemed.
Soon the Frank was managing the family trade, and the family prospered.
The size of the family collection of cows, sheep, horses, goats, pigs, dogs,
and chickens doubled. Everyone came to know and like the Frank. But the Frank,
meanwhile, adopted Slav attire. He donned a coarse wool shirt, leggings
supported by a rope belt, and leather sandals. He shaved away his beard, but
kept his mustache. Women found him attractive, and he found them attractive,
but he avoided any suggestion of interest in any woman of Sam's clan. In
short, he behaved well.
The family had come upon difficult times, because their tribe was not closely
allied to the powerful Avars, and was forced to pay tribute of barley, wheat,
millet, rye, and oats -- a hefty share of everything they were able to grow.
If they did not produce enough, and pay enough, Avar raiders would come and
take it by force, and perhaps take a few of their women too. Ittai had once
been a Roman, but had moved to these hinterlands when he married into the
family, and his wealth had been leached by the raiders. That was why Sam had
had to turn to raiding himself; it was better to join the raiders than to be
raided by them.
Sam tried to suggest that the Frank had repaid his value, because of the
improvement of family circumstances brought about by his flair for trading.
But the man demurred. "You gave me my freedom; I owe you yours."
"I am free," Sam protested.
The Frank did not argue, but neither did he depart.
In due course they built a house for him, square in the conventional manner,
submerged more than a meter into the ground. The walls were wood, and the roof
was covered with sod for insulation. It was mainly a single room, with a stone

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hearth in one corner. It was said that a number of fair women shared nights by
that hearth.
Ned became friends with the Frank, who openly admired Ned's intellect.
The Frank made no claims to being the smartest of men, but he had a power of
persuasion that was at times uncanny. Ned was in turn fascinated by this. "The
man is a genius in getting along," he said.
Then the Avars came. It seemed that the clan tribute was not enough. The
levees had been raised, leaving the clan in arrears. They had to give up half
their stores for the winter. They would be hungry long before spring.
"Something must be done about this," the Frank said angrily. "You are being
treated like slaves. I have a notion what that feels like."
He surely did. But what could anyone do?
"We can't beat the Avars," Sam said. "Hunger is better than death."
"But independence is better than hunger."
"For sure!" Sam agreed. "If only we could achieve it."
"We can achieve it if we unify."
Sam shook his head. "We Slavs have never been able to do that."
"I believe it is worth trying. Failure would leave us where we are now.
Success could benefit us greatly."
Sam laughed. "Persuade Ned."
The Frank nodded. "I shall."
And to Sam's amazement, he did. That same day, Ned asked Sam and Ittai for a
family meeting.
"The Avar strength in this region is slight," the Frank said. "It is
Slavic force that prevails, if we but knew it. We serve as allies to bolster
the Avars, answering to them. Yielding the bulk of our winnings to them. If we
unified and reserved our forces to ourselves, we could profit from our own
power."
"Are you speaking of Slavs or Franks?" Flo asked.

"Of Slavs. My origin is Frank, but now I am Slav."
"It does happen," Snow remarked, and the others smiled.
"Listen to him," Ned said. "He may be able to do us much good."
"I would like to go to the leaders of the other clans and tribes," the
Frank said. "To persuade them that if we can unify, we can oust the Avars and
rule ourselves. But I can't do it alone, because -- "
"Because they won't listen to a Frank any more than they will listen to a
Roman," Ittai said. "Unless supported by a native Slav leader."
"Sam," Snow murmured.
And so Sam found himself traveling again with the Frank, and with Ned, to make
the case to the leaders of other Slavic tribes of the region. Sam was not good
at public speaking, so he yielded that job to Ned, nodding as Ned spoke, and
Ned introduced the Frank.
They went first to the leaders of the Visians, the tribe to which their own
clan belonged. Sam's family was in good repute there, so it was not hard to
gain an audience.
At first the others were cynical. "What is your name, Frank?"
"I speak for Sam," the Frank said. "My foreign name does not matter."
"Then we shall call you Samo, in lieu of Sam." A chuckle went around the
circle. They were not taking him seriously.
"Call me Samo," the Frank agreed with a smile. "Sam gave me my freedom.
It is a name I honor."
They did not argue with that. He had answered well, without either taking or
giving offense.
Then the Frank spoke of the power of unity, and the inherent greatness of
Slavs, and the indignity of taking orders from any foreign power. His
persuasiveness manifested, and soon they were nodding, and agreeing. He played
upon their prides and their prejudices with an art that Sam could only envy
from the depths of his inability to speak similarly.

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In the end, they yielded to the Frank's vision. "If you can get other tribes
to join, the Visians will stand with you, Samo," their leader said.
"I hope they are as perceptive as you are," Samo replied. There were smiles;
they knew he was idly flattering them, but the dream was catching hold.
They went next to the Moravanians, the most powerful Slav tribe of the region.
This was a more difficult audience, but in the end it was the same.
Later they managed to bring the leaders of the Czech, Slovak, and Polabian
tribes together for a common meeting, with a Moravanian leader attending, for
news was spreading, and the Frank persuaded them all. They would unite and
throw out the Avars.
But who would lead this effort? The Slavs suffered from the same problem as
always: they could agree on no single one of them to govern others for more
than a single battle. There were too many rivalries and resentments.
"You must speak," Ned told Sam. "It is the only way."
Sam knew what to say. He was shaking as he stood before the group, for he was
a man of action, not speech. "I am Sam," he said. "I am no leader. But
I know one who is. It is the Frank. He has no history with us; he has not
fought against neighboring clansmen. He was a trader. But he knows what to do.
Follow him." He stopped, knowing he had spoken clumsily. He hated that.
"Well spoken, Brother," Ned said. "Follow the one who knows. Follow
Samo."
"But he is foreign," a leader protested. "How can we know he has our interests
at heart?"
Ned turned to the Frank. "How do you answer?"
"I am of foreign origin," the Frank said. "But I was taken captive by an
Avar, and given freedom by a Slav. I swore to restore to him my value. I will
not leave his people until I have done that. My value is what he gave me:

freedom. I will stay with him until I have given him freedom. And since he can
not be free until his people are free, I will try to give his people freedom.
And I will join his people. Every person I work with will be Slav, and I will
marry a Slav woman. I will become Slav to the best of my ability. All that I
do will be for the Slavs."
"Even if the Franks should oppose us?" a leader demanded.
"Even then," he agreed. "I make my oath on it." And he took up a handful of
earth and put it on his head.
They were impressed. They debated among themselves, and they set certain
conditions, but they accepted him as their leader for now. He would have to be
adopted into a Slav tribe, and heed the council of representatives from all
the tribes. Samo agreed, and began by appointing Sam and Ned as his chief
lieutenants, and asked for the daughter of a Slav leader to marry that same
day.
This time there was less hesitation, because women were well regarded among
the Slavs and were heeded by their husbands. All five tribes offered women.
"If I may take them all as equals, I will marry them all," Samo said
gallantly.
They considered. This would mean that each tribe had a ranking woman close to
the leader. None would be slighted. They agreed.
A protocol was issued: the Slavs would no longer tolerate foreign interference
in their affairs.
They proceeded immediately to organization and training for war, because they
knew the Avars would not ignore this rebellion. Their best war leaders and men
labored to form a unified force. Certainly it was the largest force they had
assembled, because it was drawn from five tribes instead of one. But the Avars
were brutal fighters; would this new Slav army be able to prevail, or would it
collapse under the Avar onslaught?
Samo was concerned about that too. He consulted long hours with the war
leaders, and with Ned, and with Ittai, who knew of Roman tactics. Thus there
were military schools to draw from: Slav, Frank, and Roman. They devised solid

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new strategies, considering the ways of the Avars. The leaders were impressed;
Samo himself was not a military expert, but he knew how to get the best advice
from all sources.
The Avars marched. They were contemptuous but careful. They obviously expected
to win, and they maintained good military discipline. But their contempt
nevertheless betrayed them, because they allowed the Slavs to select the
battle site. The Slav leaders shook their heads. "They are fools. We will
destroy them."
It turned out not to be that easy. The ground was hilly, with alternating bare
slopes and forests, so that the action was somewhat dispersed. They had
intended it that way, so as not to have to meet the Avars on open, level
ground, but now it was interfering with them almost as much as with the enemy.
There were problems of organization and coordination, and a certain
disinclination to go to the aid of a usually rival tribe when it was hard
pressed. One group had overrun an Avar contingent and taken booty, but other
Avars were closing in and it was about to be in trouble.
Samo, watching from the height of a protected hill with his lieutenants,
cursed. "Ned, go tell that Czech force to go to the aid of that Slovak force,
and to the netherworld with their damned rivalries! We all fight together, or
we are all doomed."
Ned went to his horse. He was being sent because the leaders knew him, and
knew he could be trusted.
"Sam, go to the Slovaks and tell them to retreat until the Czechs arrive. They
know how to do it."
Sam nodded and went to his horse. He galloped down through the forest,

staying out of sight of the action until he reached the Slovaks. "Retreat, by
order of Samo!" he cried to the commander. "Until the Czechs arrive to help."
"What? Does he think we are cowards? We're just getting started. We don't need
any Czechs."
"He said that you know how to do it," Sam said, with a meaningful look.
"Of course we know how to do it! That's why we don't need any Czechs!"
That damned fractiousness was getting in the way again. The Slovak commander
thought he could handle it alone. "Samo has given the order," Sam said firmly.
"Shall I tell him you choose to disobey it?"
The man paused, considering. "Ah, yes." Then he gave the orders.
The retreat began. The Avars, taking this as the turning point, eagerly surged
forward. The Slovaks' retreat became a rout; they overran their rear
formation, whose members dropped their booty and ran away.
The Avars broke their formation, going after the booty. Their expectations
were being met; at the first sign of real battle the Slavs were fleeing. They
began to quarrel over the spoils. The discipline they had shown under combat
evaporated.
Then the Czech contingent arrived. The Slovaks turned, quickly resuming their
formation, and charged back to the attack. Sam was in their midst, glad to get
in a bit of real action while he could. The Avars were caught flat-
footed by one of the oldest tricks in the Slav combat manual. They fought, but
they were at a double disadvantage, in poor formation facing fresh troops.
Soon they were the ones in retreat.
But the Slovak commander spotted him. "Did Samo give you orders to fight?" he
asked pointedly.
Sam sighed. He broke off and started back to Samo's headquarters to report.
So it went. The battle was brutal, but in the end the merged Slavic army
defeated the Avars. It was not a rout, but the enemy force took solid losses
and was forced to withdraw. Victory was theirs!
Slavs had won battles before, and always then separated into their separate
tribes with their loot. But this time that did not happen. "If we let our
alliance dissolve, the Avars will take vengeance on us separately," Samo said.
"We must maintain our power and vigilance.

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He was right, and they saw it. Grateful for the victory, and still unable to
back any individual leader among their own ranks, they named Samo king. Thus
came to be the Kingdom of Greater Moravia, also called the Kingdom of Samo.
In due course Samo issued a royal decree: the family of Sam's clan answered to
no one but the king himself, and he made an oath that he would never give an
unreasonable order to that clan. "Sam gave me my freedom and my name; now I
have returned my value to him."
Of course it was not that simple, historically. But the Kingdom of Samo
endured, even defeating the Frankish king Dagobert in 632. Thus it maintained
its independence, answering to none of its powerful neighbors, the Avars, the
Franks, and the Byzantines. It survived intact, about the size of modern
Germany, until Samo's death in 658. Then it was absorbed back into the Avar
empire, and was largely lost to history, but still served as the kernel around
which later Slavic unions and nations were formed. Samo had shown the way.
This was, however, only a brief respite in the fortunes of the Slavs, who were
overrun by many other peoples, and whose very name was taken by some to mean
"slaves." Today their presence manifests in such names as
Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia, which names are fragmenting as their nations
do.
Once again, the tribes are fragmenting after unification brought them victory
or economic success. It has ever been thus.

Chapter 14 -- PLAGUE
The second millennium A D. was a time of generally rising levels of
civilization and warfare. One of the largest empires of human history, that of
the Mongols in Asia, was formed and dissipated, and later came the European
global expansion. But some of the more interesting by-paths of history
occurred on smaller scales. Among these was the trade rivalry of two north
Italian cities, Venice and Genoa. Venice was on the northeast coast, at the
northern end of the Adriatic Sea; its influence and trade expanded through the
Adriatic region and the Aegean, and even as far as the coasts of Egypt and
Asia Minor. Genoa was on Italy's northwest coast; its trade was westward as
far as Spain and south to the African shore.
But there was an exception to this pattern: in 1201 the Genoese settled at
Kaffa on the Crimean peninsula at the north coast of the Black Sea, in rival
Venetian territory. This was a connection to an overland trade route from the
far east, so was potentially a rich one. The Venetians established a trading
post at Azov, in the same area, north of the Crimean peninsula. Thus the
rivalry of the major Italian cities was echoed in the far-flung minor ones.
Then politics took a hand: in 1261 Genoa backed a revolt that placed a
friendly emperor on the Byzantine throne, and was granted a monopoly on
trading rights to the region. In 1266 the Mongol Khanate of the Golden Horde
ceded a piece of land there to the Genoese. Thus the tiny trading port became
the center of European trade with Asia. A burgeoning Christian city grew up
around the central fortress.
Later, the winds of political favor changed, and the Venetians returned in
force. In 1296 a fleet of twenty-five Venetian ships attacked and laid waste
the port and fortress at Kaffa. In 1307 the khan was angered because the
Italian merchants were supplying Turkish slaves for the Mamelukes of Egypt. He
felt this deprived the steppe of potential soldiers. He sent an army to
besiege Kaffa. The Genoese had to abandon the city. They took to the sea,
burning the port and city behind them.
But in a few years the situation changed again, and the Mongols allowed the
Genoese to rebuild Kaffa. Perhaps they missed the trade, from which they, too,
profited handsomely. By 1316 Kaffa was flourishing again. The Venetians were
also allowed to return, and they built a trading colony at Tana, which may
have been a restoration of the prior one they had had at Azov. The exact
nature of the relationship between the colonies of Venice and Genoa in this
region is uncertain; probably it blew hot and cold as local politics shifted.

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There is evidence of both quarrels and cooperation.
In 1343 an Italian merchant encountered a Mongol in the market place of
Tana. The Italian insulted the one he termed a Tartar. The Mongol responded
with a blow. The Italian drew his sword and killed him. This set off other
street fights, and a number of Mongols were killed. The khan, not one to take
such affront lightly, then drove the Venetians from Tana. They sought refuge
in Kaffa, which was better defended. In 1345 and 1346 Genoa and Venice
combined their fleets to enforce a blockade of the Mongol coast. Meanwhile in
1344 and 1346 the Mongols besieged Kaffa. They were unable to take the city,
and the Italians blockaded the Black Sea, preventing all foreign traffic from
entering or leaving Mongol waters. It was a stalemate.
Then came the plague.
FLO WAS BUSY ORGANIZING THE day, so it was some time before she became aware
of Wildflower's proximity. The girl was actually of a high-born Mongol family,
but complications of politics and vicissitudes of battle had stranded

her amidst enemies. Lin had saved her by garbing her as a boy and bringing her
to Captain Ittai, who had stashed them on his ship and brought them home to
Kaffa. Because Mongols were not in good repute at the moment in the city, the
girl was confined largely to the house for the duration of the siege. Normally
she kept to herself, doing whatever was asked without complaint, and doing it
well. She had once, Flo understood, been imperious, but the loss of her
position had entirely changed her nature. She was really a very good house
guest, and Flo rather liked her. But now something was evidently bothering
her.
Flo paused in her activity. "What is it, Princess?"
"I -- I -- do not wish to give offense."
There had once been a day when she wouldn't have cared about giving offense.
But maybe that had been a schooled royal attitude, and now the real nature of
the girl was showing. "You haven't given any of us any offense yet.
What do you have in mind?"
"I -- I am about to be fourteen." In my -- among my people, that is considered
an age to -- to -- to be betrothed."
"Oh, my," Flo breathed. "Let me look at you, girl."
Wildflower stood up straight. Flo saw that she was indeed coming into
womanhood, with a nice face, nice legs, and breasts verging on nubility. Her
hair was long and braided in the Genoese manner for young unmarried women. She
wore a fitted robe laced down the front, with elbow-length sleeves whose back
sides descended down past the elbows. She was an attractive girl, without
doubt. But she was Mongol, and Genoa was at war with the Mongols. Her
prospects for marriage within the city were nil. If she even went out on the
street with her race and gender showing, she would be raped and killed in
short order.
"I know I am not of good repute -- because -- "
"Among your own people, you would be quite attractive," Flo said quickly.
"No."
"Oh, I'm sure of it! In time of peace, even Genoese have taken Mongol brides.
Especially when they are pretty. And you are pretty. How much more likely that
one of your own would, especially considering your royalty. When this war is
done, and you can go out -- "
"No. I was -- was -- "
Oh. "You were raped by Venetians, when they captured you. But we understand
about that. I myself was raped, long ago, and Snow -- "
"Yes. You of Sam's family do not condemn. And the one I -- the one I
wish -- "
Flo felt an expectant shiver. "Who?" But she already knew.
"Ned. But he -- "
"He thinks of you as a little sister. Like Lin."
"Yes."

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"Do you really like him, or is it that he is your only prospect?"
Wildflower looked at her, and tears started from her eyes. Answer enough.
Flo considered further. Wildflower was a good girl, with many skills and a
sweet disposition. She was young, but old enough. She could make Ned a good
wife. If he ever noticed her in that manner.
"I will do what I can," Flo said.
Then Wildflower ran to her and hugged her. She was a young woman now, but had
not yet given up all of her delightfully youthful ways.
"But it may take time," Flo warned her. "A man can't be forced in such
things."
"I know. I will be patient."
Flo returned to her preparation of the big meal of the day, and

Wildflower returned to her washing of clothing. It seemed a shame to have a
princess doing such menial chores, but it did help conceal her nature, and the
girl didn't seem to mind.
Snow returned, carrying a bag of vegetables from the market place, with her
son Sid. Flo looked up from her work, smiling. The woman was well dressed, for
she was the wife of the head of the family and needed to maintain appearances.
Her hair was finely coifed, tied into an intricate braid, or rather, twin
braids coiled over the ears, contained by woven netting. She wore a loose
surcoat whose sleeves were buttoned from the shoulder to the wrist.
Flo liked Snow, and it wasn't because the two had a fair amount in common; it
was that Snow truly loved Sam and would never play him false. Sam was working
on the constant but essential shoring up of the city wall, to be sure that no
weakness developed. The city depended on that wall for its security. If the
Mongols ever breached the wall, there would be great wailing and gnashing of
teeth for sure, not to mention wholesale raping and killing.
Flo wasn't worried; the wall was massive and high, and was constantly guarded;
the enemy didn't have a chance. But Sam and Dirk made sure that nothing
happened to it.
"All is well?" Flo inquired.
"All is well," Snow agreed. "But Dirk says something is going on out there. We
don't know what. There aren't as many catapults operating as before."
"Maybe they are running out of rocks to hurl," Flo suggested.
"Dirk doesn't think so. He says there seem to be plenty of rocks. They just
aren't hurling them."
"That certainly saves us work," Flo said. "Fewer rocks, fewer repairs."
But she wondered. It wasn't like the Mongols to give any battle less than
their best, and a siege was a kind of battle. Of course the Mongols weren't
good at siegework, despite illustrious exceptions, because the tribes tended
to become restless and dilatory when faced with long, dull sieges. Still, this
sudden cessation of activity was surprising.
Snow put Sid to sleep, then stripped to her close-fitting underdress and got
to work beside Flo, preparing the produce she had brought in. It wasn't
especially good, but that was because it all had to be imported by ship and
spent too much time in the hold. It was still much better than nothing,
whatever the children might think.
In the afternoon, Bry and the children charged in. "They are -- " Bry cried.
Flo blocked them off. "Don't come in here all dirty!" she exclaimed.
"Get those filthy things off!"
"But they are -- " Bry protested as Flint and Wilda grimaced. They were close
to six years old, and loved dirt.
"You know the rule! I'll tolerate no city dirt and no vermin in this house."
"I must be one or the other," Bry muttered, and the children giggled.
They started stripping off their clothing, which was indeed badly soiled.
Wildflower delicately turned her back, to allow them to stand naked and wash
at the tub, also dumping in the badly soiled clothing. Flo, of course, didn't
matter; she had seen everything times beyond counting.

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When they were all clean and in fresh outfits, Bry was finally allowed to
blurt out his news: "The Mongols! They're falling sick! It's the plague!"
Flo felt a chill as she exchanged a glance with Snow. She knew of the plague;
Jes had suffered it two years ago, and reported that it was deadly.
The Mongol siege was bad enough, but a siege of the plague could be worse.
"If it is out there," Snow murmured, "it will soon be in here."
"Yes," Flo agreed grimly. "We had better hold a family council."
"Why?" Bry asked. He was thirteen, and curious about everything.

"We might find it expedient to get on the ship," Flo said quietly.
"Soon."
"Oooooh!" the children exclaimed, clapping their hands with delight.
They usually went aboard Ittai's ship only to visit when it was in port.
"Yes, that might be fun," Flo said, with a warning glance at Bry.
But the ship was not in the harbor at the moment, so that was not an immediate
option. They would have to hope that the plague did not come to the city
before Ittai and Jes arrived home. Meanwhile they quietly stocked up on all
supplies they could, because Flo knew that once the plague entered the city,
there would be panic, and it would not be safe to set foot outside the house.
But meanwhile it was best to act as if nothing was out of order, so as not to
precipitate that panic. So Bry and Lin and the children went out to play as
usual, but more carefully than before, and not far from the house. If the
plague came, Flo wanted everyone safely in the house as long as possible.
The news from outside was that the Mongols were being ravaged by the plague,
and would soon have to abate the siege. That seemed like good news to many
townsmen, but Flo knew better. Nobody knew how the plague spread, but it
surely could penetrate the walls. Whatever the Mongols suffered, the city well
might suffer too. If only Ittai's ship would get back in time!
Sam and Dirk, in their hooded cloaks, coarse wool trousers, and working
aprons, brought grim news from the wall: the Mongol catapults were active
again, but now they were not hurling rocks. They were hurling bodies. The
bodies of enemy warriors killed by the plague.
"We don't want those bodies with us!" Flo said at the impromptu family
meeting. "Maybe the dead can't give it to the living, but -- "
"But maybe they can," Sam said grimly.
"Maybe they can, indeed," Ned agreed. "We must get those bodies out as fast as
they come in."
"Yes," Wildflower said faintly. But Flo saw that Ned didn't notice her.
The city authorities agreed. Crews were organized to haul out the bodies,
street by street. Every able-bodied man not already active in the defense was
expected to participate, however ugly the chore.
"For once I'm with the authorities," Flo said. "Our men are busy, but we have
other hands. I will haul bodies, and -- "
"So will I," Ned said. He was the best dressed of the men at the moment,
because he worked more with his mind than his hands. He wore a close-fitting
tunic that tied up at the front, with a leather belt and pointed shoes.
"So will I," Wildflower said.
Ned shook his head. "You should stay inside, girl. That plague is ugly."
Flo was about to agree with him, but managed to stifle herself. If the two
could work together...
"If you get the plague, you will bring it inside anyway," Wildflower said. "We
all may get it. Unless we get those bodies out quickly. So I might as well
help."
"But if the city folk see a person of your race -- "
"I will shroud my head in gauze, to stop the plague. No one will see me."
He looked at Flo. "Are you going to let this child take this risk?"
Flo saw Wildflower wince. She considered. "As she says, we are all at risk.
Our best hope is to get those bodies out as quickly as possible. And she's not
a child."

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"Yes she is."
Flo smiled. "Ned, girls grow up to become women. She has done so."
"No she hasn't."
Flo kept her face neutral. "Wildflower, if you will, show him your figure."

Wildflower was glad to oblige. She unlaced her robe and removed it, standing
straight in her close-fitted underdress. She took a deep breath so that her
small but definite breasts were accented. She unbraided her long black hair
and let it fall to her waist. She met Ned's astonished gaze, and smiled.
"I think he remains unconvinced," Flo said mischievously, noting the way his
pupils had dilated. She herself was surprised by just how far Wildflower had
developed. She was slender, but her hips and thighs were solid, establishing
her capacity for childbearing. "Perhaps you should take off some more."
"No need," Ned said quickly. He knew as well as she did that there wasn't
anything under the underdress. "I yield the point, little sister."
"I'm not your sister."
"Well, it's the same thing. You and Lin -- "
"I live here by the sufferance of your kind family," Wildflower said
carefully. "It is no affront to be taken as Lin's sister. But I am not."
He shrugged. "As you wish." He turned away.
"So we three will go out and haul bodies," Flo said briskly. "Snow and
Lin will take care of the children. But we must wear gloves."
They did not argue. No one knew how the plague was spread, but physical
contact seemed the most likely vector.
No bodies landed in their street that day or the next, but when one did come,
they were ready. Gloved and masked, the women wearing baggy borrowed men's
trousers, the three went out to the gruesome corpse.
The thing stank. The man had evidently fouled himself before dying, and no one
had cleaned him up. That suggested the intensity of the siege of the disease.
His clothes reeked of urine, feces, and vomit. On his neck was a horrible
swelling sore. His eyes were staring and bloodshot; he must have suffered
terribly before dying.
"The feet," Flo said, suppressing her rising gorge. "Drag him by the feet.
Don't touch anything but his boots." She leaned down to grab one boot, and Ned
took hold of the other. "Wildflower, see if you can signal the corpse wagon."
The girl nodded and ran ahead of them down the street. They hauled the corpse
along. No one else came out to offer help; the majority of the people of the
city had such fear of the sickness that they would not get close to a corpse
even to try to save themselves from the plague. At least that made it easy to
do the job; the street was clear.
The body was heavy, and they were panting by the time they brought it to the
end of the street where it intersected the main road. Wildflower had succeeded
in signaling the wagon, and it was approaching. The key to rapid disposal of
the bodies was rapid location and movement to pickup points; it was well
organized, because of the importance of the task.
They waited while the wagon arrived. Two men jumped down and picked up the
body, heaving it onto the back. Like Flo and the others, they wore gloves.
"Good job," one said. Without delay they got back aboard and started the
horses onward.
That was all there was to it. Except for the cleanup. Neither Ned nor
Wildflower argued when Flo said they would wash both themselves and their
clothing immediately upon re-entry to the house. They had seen the festering
corpse, and wanted none of that for themselves.
Snow had already set out the washtub, full of water. She took the children and
retreated, giving them privacy for their act. They stripped as quickly as
possible and dumped their clothing in a pile. Then they took sponges and
cleaned themselves, rapidly but efficiently, doing their hair too.
They helped each other with their backs, wanting to miss no places, lest the
plague fix there.

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Flo was mature and fat and Ned's true sister, so she knew he had no problem
with her. But she watched surreptitiously to see whether he had any problem
with naked Wildflower. She saw him wince once, as he scrubbed the girl's back
and got a good view of her rounded bottom, but he suffered no masculine
reaction. Evidently he still regarded her as a sister. Too bad.
Wildflower was almost as pretty as Lin, and her body looked even more feminine
naked. She really would be a fine mate for a man.
Only when they were clean did they dump the clothing into the tub. Flo started
to wash it, but Wildflower stayed her hand. "I'll do it; I know how."
Flo nodded. "We'll go get dressed," she said. "I'll bring you clothing."
For by prior agreement, they had had no new clothing in the room, lest it
become contaminated.
She and Ned went to the next chamber, where Snow had laid out the things. Flo
was glad to get dressed again; she did not much like showing off her body. Ned
seemed the same, though he was a fine figure of a young man.
"Good job," she said, echoing the wagon man.
"Yes," he agreed.
That was all. She left him and took Wildflower's clothing to her. But she had
noticed a trace of blood in Ned's mouth as he spoke. She knew its
significance.
"Thank you," Wildflower said, accepting and donning the clothes. Then, after a
pause: "He really does regard me as a sister."
Flo shook her head. "There was blood in his mouth."
Wildflower looked at her, alarmed. "Not the plague!"
Flo smiled. "No, dear. He bit his tongue."
"To stop from retching, out there?"
"No. While washing your back."
The girl stared at her. "He hated doing that?"
"You know better than that. He saw you, when he thought no one observed."
Slowly, Wildflower smiled. "Do you think it took much pain, to stop --
it?"
"Yes."
"Thank the Christian God!" Now there were tears of relief on her face.
"Next time you can ask him to wash your front. He'll be in danger of biting
his tongue off."
Wildflower giggled, then sobered. "Why doesn't he want me to see his
interest?"
"Because his feelings are mixed. For the past year he has seen you as a
virtual sister. Now he sees you with an appealing body. It feels like incest.
So he fights it. But give him time. He will come to see you as a separate
woman."
"I hope so."
No more corpses landed on their street. Flo was almost disappointed, as was
Wildflower. But all too soon they had another concern, for the plague appeared
within the city. First in scattered houses, and the bodies were taken out by
the wagon for dumping in the sea. Then it became endemic, striking in almost
every house.
"We must get out of Kaffa," Flo said. "We have been lucky so far, but there is
too much of it; we're bound to be caught if we stay."
But they couldn't leave, because Ittai's ship had not yet come in, and there
was no passage on any of the others. Everyone wanted to get out of the city!
A neighbor came. "Please -- my husband -- he will die. You are a healing
woman; you can help him!"
"All I know is caring for my family," Flo said.
"And they are all healthy."

What could she do? "I'll try."

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The man had a huge black swelling on his neck: the bubo. He was writhing and
groaning continuously. Flo put her hand on his head, but couldn't keep it
there because of his motion. One touch sufficed, however: he was burning hot.
He smelled, too; he had defecated in his clothing.
"Get him clean," Flo said. When the woman seemed not to understand, Flo
tackled the job herself. She drew the clothes off the man, stripping him
naked. The woman did not protest. One advantage of being fat was that one had
no sexual attraction, so was considered no threat to anyone else's man. She
fetched a bucket with water, and used a large sponge to wash the soiled
region.
The man relaxed, and fell into an uneasy sleep. Flo realized that the coolness
of the water must have done it. So she rinsed out the sponge and washed his
whole body. His sleep became less troubled. "Keep him clean, keep him cool,"
she said. "Maybe it will help."
The woman nodded, and Flo returned to her own house. But she visited the
neighbor man several times thereafter, mainly to offer moral support to the
distraught wife.
The man's fever continued, and he sweated copiously, and the sweat carried its
own stench. So did his very breath. The woman was keeping him clean, now, but
everything about him stank of the plague. The discoloration of his skin spread
out from the bubo, the splotches ranging from red to black.
On the third day the bubo on the neck broke open and thick pus welled out. Flo
clenched her teeth and mopped it up. After that the man seemed able to relax
better, as if the illness was draining from his body. In two more days the
fever faded, his skin cleared, and he began to take an interest in food.
"He is mending!" the woman cried. "You did it! You saved him!"
Flo shook her head. "I just tried to make him more comfortable. He threw off
the malady himself." But she was glad to have helped.
Meanwhile the city was in a siege of another kind: terror. Everyone wanted to
escape, but could not. Panic was endemic. The overland route away was too
dangerous; even with the Mongol siege lifted, the terrain was hardly safe from
the wrath of the khan, and anyway, the plague was there too.
Then Sam got the plague. He developed a swelling in the armpits, and ran a
high fever. He made it home under his own power, and to the bed, then
collapsed.
"I can take care of him," Flo said grimly, knowing how horrible this was going
to get.
"No, it's my job," Snow said.
Flo didn't argue. She had made the offer, expecting it to be turned down.
"Then Lin should take care of Sid."
Snow paused, then nodded. They knew that there was no point in exposing the
baby to the plague. Snow would continue nursing him, but at other times he
would be kept away from her. There was no problem; Lin had cared for him
before, when Snow was busy.
They closed off the chamber where Sam lay. Snow was the only one to enter it.
So far the plague did not seem to travel from person to person, but there was
no point in taking chances.
The next day Dirk fell ill. Did he, too, have the plague? They moved him in
with Sam, and now Flo entered the chamber, because it had become her business.
They used clothes and cool water to bathe their men constantly, trying to ease
the fever. It didn't seem to help much. Both men just seemed to get sicker.
Sam's armpit swelling expanded, turning deep red. He flung his muscular arm
out, groaning. "What is it, my dear?" Snow asked helplessly.

"The bubo hurts," he said, grimacing. "Cut it out!"
Snow looked helplessly at Flo. "What can I do?"
Flo considered. When the neighbor's bubo had suppurated, he had started
mending. Maybe that was the key. "We will drain it," she said.
She fetched a sharp knife with a thin, almost needlelike point. She sponged

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off the swelling. "This will hurt, a moment," she said. "But it may help."
"Do it!"
"Snow, hold his arm," she said. "So I can work."
Snow took hold of Sam's arm, clasping it to her generous bosom. Flo aimed the
knife point, then stabbed it precisely into the center of the bubo.
Sam grunted. His arm swept down, hauling Snow with it, so that she landed
across his chest. Flo barely got the knife out of the way in time.
Then Sam relaxed, and Snow recovered her balance. Flo lifted the arm away, and
he did not resist.
Her aim had been true. Blood and pus were welling out of the hole she had
made. "The pressure is off," Sam said. "It doesn't hurt as bad."
"It is draining," she explained. Then, to Snow: "Let it drain. Keep it clean.
Better that poison come out, than stay in his body."
Dirk was more fortunate. His fever broke, and there was no bubo. He was ill
with something else, and was recovering. That was a relief.
Sam mended, and Dirk did. The draining of the bubo seemed to have been the
turning point for Sam. Flo knew that it might be coincidence, but she was glad
that her experience with the neighbor man had given her the hint.
Then Ned came down with the plague. He had gone to the wall to see to the
unfinished work of the other two, because though the Mongols appeared to have
given up the siege, that could be a ruse. Now he had the swelling in the neck,
and the fever.
"We know how to tend him," Flo said.
"My turn," Wildflower said. "Please."
"Girl, this is ugly business," Flo warned her.
"I know. But if I stand idle, and he dies -- "
"We'll do it together," Flo decided.
They moved Sam out. He remained weak, but could walk, and was no longer in
danger. They left Dirk for another day or two; his illness was routine, but
debilitating. Ned took his brother's place.
Wildflower had been somewhat prepared by the body they had hauled out of the
street, and by discussion of Sam and Dirk's illnesses. But Flo feared she was
not ready for the malady in Ned. So she kept a close if unobtrusive eye out.
"We shall have to strip him and bathe him," Flo said. "I can do it -- "
"No. I will do it."
"He will stink. It is the odor of the plague, coming from his breath, skin,
spittle, and all else. It must simply be endured."
"The smell carried through the house," Wildflower said, wrinkling her nose as
she smiled.
"He will foul himself. We must simply clean it up."
"I will do it."
And Wildflower bravely did the required jobs, leaving Flo to tend to
Dirk. Flo hoped it wouldn't extirpate her feeling for the young man, because
the more this former princess buckled to the noxious task, the better respect
Flo had for her.
Ned's fever was high, and in the throes of it he cried out in delirium.
"Wona, no! Don't make me do it!"
"Who?" Wildflower asked, perplexed. "Do what?" But he was lost in some other
realm.
"It may be time for you to know," Flo said. "But you must never repeat

it."
"Repeat what?"
"Ned was seduced by Sam's first wife, a beautiful and faithless woman.
He could not break her hold. So we sent her away, and Sam found Snow instead.
Sam does not know, and Ned feels guilt. So if you have a relation with him --
"
"That could be a problem," Wildflower agreed. "But if he didn't rape her
-- "

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"She raped him, really."
"Then I understand well enough," the girl said grimly. "Better than someone
else might."
"We do understand about rape," Flo said.
Then at last the ship came in. Ittai and Jes arrived home in style, as
befitted their status as proprietors of a merchant vessel. He wore a short
buttoned tunic of intricate pattern, divided down the center into opposing
colors, with a fringed collar and a long pointed hood. Beneath it was a long-
sleeved shirt with decorative buttons and armbands with descending cloth
streamers. He wore a jeweled girdle about the hips, and hose with each leg a
different color. His pointed shoes buttoned at the ankle and the top of the
arch. Jes's hair was too short to be braided, but she wore a pretty tiara. Her
gown was sideless and sleeveless, and laced with fine ribbons from shoulder to
hip. Flo knew they hadn't worn those elegant outfits on the ship; they had
changed just before disembarking.
The family made immediate arrangements to embark. But Captain Ittai balked.
"We can't take a man with the plague on the ship! The crew would mutiny."
Flo realized that it was true. "Then we shall have to wait."
"The crew is not eager to remain in port any longer than necessary. We can't
delay more than a few days."
"It will have to do."
For several days Ned's outcome remained in doubt, as the bubo on his neck
swelled and his skin spotted. He stopped fouling himself after the food that
had been in his system cleared, but the stench of his body was awful. Flo and
Wildflower took turns going out so as to have the relief of fresh air.
They took turns sleeping too, because Ned's case was worse than the others.
Flo lanced the bubo, but it didn't seem to help. His body seemed to be wasting
away.
"I can't hold the crew much longer," Ittai warned them.
Flo shook her head. "I think we had better prepare ourselves. Ned is going to
die."
"No!" Wildflower protested. "He must live!"
"You don't know that he will value you, if he lives," Flo said, trying to
soften the blow rather than to be cruel. "Maybe he doesn't really want to
live."
"I understand that too. But he is my hope. I must save him!"
"Girl, I wish you could. But I don't know how."
Wildflower's face was desperate. "By loving him!"
Flo did not argue. It seemed that the strain of this siege was affecting the
girl's mind.
Wildflower sponged off Ned's face. "You think you are evil, because of
Wona," she told him. "But you couldn't stop her. You are not evil. You think
no one will love you, but someone will. I will love you. I will love you."
Then she kissed his wasted lips.
Ned's eyes opened. "But you are my sister!" he protested.
"I am not your sister!" she retorted. "Could a sister do this?" She kissed him
again.
Flo kept her silence. There was no real logic to Wildflower's words or

actions, but they were probably as close as she would ever come to the love
she craved.
Yet they did seem to have some effect on the man. Ned relaxed, and fell into
what seemed to be a less tortured sleep. Flo marveled, wondering whether it
was possible. Was Ned expiring from guilt as much as from the disease?
It was, indeed, the turning point. The next day Ned's fever was down somewhat.
He took water and a bit of food. The day after, he took more. Then he became
conscious of his surroundings. "Who has cared for me?" he asked Flo, for
Wildflower was now sleeping in the next room.
"We have," Flo said. "Wildflower and I."

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He looked wary. "I had a strange dream. Did I say something?"
"Yes."
"Did she say something?"
"Yes."
He shook his head, electing not to pursue the matter.
Now they could depart this cursed city. The crew might not like it, but
Ned was obviously recovering. So probably he would not spread the plague to
anyone else, even if it did pass from man to man, as seemed doubtful. Two of
them had been stricken, and been lucky enough to survive; Flo was sure that
luck would not hold much longer.
Unfortunately, the very ships seeking to carry people to safety from the
plague carried the plague to other cities of Europe. The crews might not
knowingly take aboard sick people, but the delay between infection and
symptoms made it inevitable. In 1347 it spread to Constantinople and Turkey;
in 1348 it spread to Greece, Italy, Spain, and France; in 1349 it spread to
northern Europe. Thereafter it moved on into Russia and faded out. It killed
60-90 percent of those infected. But not everyone caught it. The manner of
contagion was a mystery to the people of the time, but today we understand it.
We also know that there was not one, but three forms of it. The first, which
was at Kaffa, was bubonic: spread by rat fleas when they bit human beings. It
could not be transmitted directly from human to human. The reason Flo's family
was largely spared the plague was her unnatural fetish about cleanliness;
there was little dirt, and no rats, and therefore no rat fleas in her house.
Its course and symptoms were as described. There is no evidence that draining
the bubo helped, however; indeed reports are mixed on whether a draining bubo
led to recovery or immediate death. It may be that the best course was to have
the bubo subside naturally, a symptom rather than a cause of recovery.
Possibly those who had good health before being stricken had better survival
odds; that is the assumption here. Later in Europe the second form was
encountered: pneumonic. This occurred when a person infected with the plague
also caught pneumonia. It attacked the lungs, causing violent, bloody
coughing. The bacilli infected the breath, so that it spread by air. It was
more deadly than the bubonic form, being said to be universally fatal in three
days. When a person coughed blood, he was doomed. This did not improve with
time; an outbreak in the twentieth century was fatal, on average, in 1.8 days.
Buboes did not appear, perhaps because there was hardly time. The third form
was septicemic, and was even swifter: it infected the blood, and the victim
was dead in a few hours. The plague, in its three forms, may have killed a
third of all Europeans during the first great siege. It recurred irregularly,
and still exists today. But the contemporary world has seen little to compare
to the horror the plague held for the folk of the fourteenth century.
Chapter 15 -- KHAN
One of the most notorious conquerors in history was Timur the Lame,

otherwise known as Tamerlane. But that was what his enemies called him; he
called himself Sahib Qiran, "Lord of the Fortunate Conjunction." He was a Turk
in Transoxiana ("Across the Oxus" River -- now the Amu Darya), in central Asia
north of modern Afghanistan. He seems to have been a genius in battle but a
poor governor, so that his battles always had to be fought over. But his
impact on central Asia may have been second only to that of the Mongols, whose
mantle he claimed.
One day a Mongol prince came to Tamerlane's capital of Samarkand to beseech
his aid against kinsmen who were displacing him. This was Toqtamish, a
descendant of Genghis Khan and pretender to the throne of the White Horde.
Timur was glad to receive him, as this royal Mongol might prove useful, and
gave him three cities: Otrar, Sabran, and Signakhi on the north bank of the
Syr Darya, the northern of two rivers feeding into the Aral Sea. This was
between the territories of Transoxiana and the White Horde, claimed by each,
so needed strong defense.

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Unfortunately Toqtamish was not apt in this respect. His relatives invaded and
defeated him in battle, driving him out. He returned to Timur, who sent a
force to back off the Mongols, installing Toqtamish in Sabran again.
But when Timur's troops departed, the Mongols came back and ousted Toqtamish
again without difficulty. This time Timur himself came into the steppe and in
1377 severely defeated the White Horde, putting Toqtamish back in power in his
cities. But as soon as Timur went home, the Mongols routed Toqtamish a third
time. So Timur gave the hapless prince further support, and in the winter of
1377-78 not only beat the enemy, but enabled Toqtamish to become khan of the
White Horde. How long this would last was doubtful, as Toqtamish seemed to
have as much of a genius for losing battles as Timur had for winning them.
Then something odd happened. It remains a mystery to history, but an
exploration of the events following Toqtamish's second rout may resolve it.
The time is 1376.
NED, RANGING OUT AHEAD TO scout the way, heard a distant clamor. That could be
trouble. He rode up on a bluff overlooking the Syr Darya and peered forward.
To the north, across the river, the remnant of a battle was proceeding.
He could see the colors of Timur, and those of the White Horde. The standards
of the Turks were in disarray, while those of the Mongols were organized.
"Oh, no," he breathed. "Toqtamish lost again."
He was about to ride back to carry the word to his commander, when he saw a
special eddy current in the larger swirl of the battle. A lone horseman was
fleeing a group of riders. He had evidently gotten isolated from his troop and
was about to be killed.
But why would they pursue an ordinary cavalryman? Where could he go? He was
caught between the enemy and the river, evidently unarmed, no longer a threat
to the Mongols. They would do better to mop up the remaining pockets of
organized resistance. Unless --
Could it be? Yes, that would explain it. It could be Toqtamish himself, the
one the White Horde was after. The pretender to their throne. They would not
let him go!
Fascinated by the distant interplay, Ned strained to see it unfold. He
remembered how rival royal factions among the White Horde had vied for power,
and Urus Khan had risen to dominance five years before. Opposed by his cousin
Tuli Khoja, he had acted forthrightly: he had attacked and killed his rival.
Khoja's son Toqtamish had had to flee for his life. He had gone to the one
power capable of reversing his ill fortunes: Timur of Transoxiana.
Ned, as an apprentice strategist in Timur's court, had studied the activities
of the White Horde, because Timur's generals were keeping a wary eye on the
rise of a potentially dangerous power to the north. Urus clearly

had large ambitions, which included reuniting the White and Golden Hordes
under his own leadership, and possibly Persia too. Since Persia was Timur's
sphere of endeavor, this bore watching. Ned was one of a number of strategists
assigned to watch and advise about such developments, so that Timur would not
be caught unprepared. What use to conquer Persia, if the White Horde then
swept down on his flank? So the appeal of a legitimate pretender to the Mongol
throne was of considerable interest.
He remembered the fanfare with which Timur's General Uzbeg had escorted
Toqtamish to Samarkand. Timur himself had hastened back from the front to meet
him, greeting him as his son. There were lavish gifts of gold, gems, robes,
silks, furniture, camels, horses, tents, drums, banners, and slaves.
He had installed Toqtamish as ruler of the borderlands between
Transoxiana and the White Horde, and given him fresh troops with which to
defend his territory.
Of course Timur's generosity was calculated. A genuine and loyal Mongol prince
was a fine buffer to have on that perilous border. It solved the problem of
the ambitions of the khan of the White Horde. For now.
But as soon as Toqtamish settled in, Urus Khan sent an army commanded by his

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son Qutlugh-buka to rout him out. Toqtamish was forced to flee, but the
victorious Qutlugh-buka was severely wounded in the battle, and died the next
day. This surely did not please the khan.
Ned had watched with wonder as Timur greeted the Mongol prince with even
greater honors than before, and supplied him with a fresh army. Toqtamish had
set out to reclaim his lost domains. But spies had brought news to Samarkand
of another Mongol army moving south, this one commanded by Urus Khan's eldest
son, Tokhta-qiya, who was determined to avenge the death of his brother. So
Timur had sent the ranking official Idiku Berlas to counsel Toqtamish and
assist him in ruling his limited kingdom, so that he would not be ousted
again. Ned was part of that party. But now it was apparent that they were too
late. Tokhta-qiya, perhaps spurred on by his grief, had not waited for
Toqtamish to enter Sabran. He had intercepted Toqtamish on the way, and
probably caught him by surprise, and routed him. Now Toqtamish was fleeing for
his life, and his prospects looked bleak indeed. The lone rider reached the
river just ahead of the pursuit and drove his horse into the water. But the
animal might have balked -- Ned couldn't tell from this distance -- and the
man had to shed armor and swim. The troops of the White Horde drew up at the
water, not caring to try to ford it in their armor, and took deliberate aim
with their bows. Several arrows missed, for it was a fleeting target; the man
was holding his breath and swimming under the surface as much as possible.
Also, the river's current was bearing him along, further confusing his
irregular appearances. But then there was a cry, and Ned saw the faint
discoloration of blood in the water. The fugitive had been struck!
But the man made it to the far bank. He staggered from the water, entered the
forest, and threw himself into the underbrush, evidently exhausted. The
archers were running down the river, trying to get into better position for
loosing their arrows more accurately, but their target had disappeared.
Now Ned turned his horse and galloped back to report to Idiku Berlas, as he
should have done before. But he had wanted to see whether the fugitive
escaped, because if it was Toqtamish, and if the prince died, then their
mission would have become pointless. Now he knew that there was still a
chance. But he had to hurry, because he had to reach Idiku and return with aid
before the Mongols could reach a fordable spot in the river, cross, and locate
their prey.
Soon he reached Idiku. "There is a battle beyond the river!" he cried.
"Mongol, Turk. The Mongols won. I think I saw Toqtamish escape!"
"Where?"

"By the river woods. I marked the place."
"Lead the way."
Idiku and his troop followed Ned to the region he had seen. They plunged into
the woods flanking the river, forging on through.
"He could be anywhere along here," Ned said. "And the Mongols could be
crossing the river in pursuit."
Idiku signaled, and the men spread out to approach the river in a line.
They reached it, and saw Mongols carefully fording it with roped horses. But
the moment the Mongols spied them, they retreated. The river was no place to
defend against arrows from the land.
Meanwhile Idiku and Ned ranged through the brush. "Prince!" Ned called.
"We are friends!" There was a groan nearby. Ned went there, and saw the
fugitive lying under a bush. He dismounted and ran to him. It was indeed
Prince Toqtamish. "Here!" he called to Idiku as he kneeled beside the fallen
man.
In a moment Idiku was there. "He is wounded in the hand," he said.
"Nonlethal injury."
Ned bound the hand, and they helped Toqtamish to a horse. He was too weary to
ride competently on his own, so Ned rode with him, keeping him from slumping
out of the saddle as the horse walked.

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"We'll take him directly to Timur, at Bukhara," Idiku said.
They camped for the night, posting guards. Toqtamish began to revive, eating
bread and drinking wine. He inquired about the identity of his rescuers, and
Idiku introduced himself and Ned. "Ned spied you crossing the river, and led
us to the place," he said.
"What is it he wears?"
"A cross," Ned said. "I am a Christian."
Toqtamish nodded, evidently losing interest. "I will remember." Then he found
a place to urinate, and retired to the tent to sleep.
In the morning, rested, the Mongol prince was able to ride on his own, and
they made better time.
Timur welcomed the prince again, and gave him more riches and honors.
Ned marveled at this extreme generosity to one who had proved to be of
questionable competence, but of course did not speak. He was just an
incidental functionary, beneath the notice of royalty. He stayed close to
Idiku, his immediate superior, and tried to remain part of the background. It
was the first time he had been allowed into even the incidental presence of
Timur, and he felt the thrill of the honor. He saw that Timur walked with a
slight limp, and he, too, had an injury in the hand. Stories abounded about
how he had received the wounds to his right appendages, varying with the
regard in which the tellers held him. Supporters told of his ferocious
appetite for combat, in which he had been injured during pitched battles with
enemies who greatly outnumbered him; detractors spoke darkly of botched cattle
raids or even single combat with his own father. But all conceded his
legendary prowess on horseback and personal valor in battle. Certainly his
lameness did not slow him in those pursuits.
This time the Mongol khan did not simply let the fugitive go. Within days word
came that Urus was marching south with a larger army to punish
Toqtamish. Soon two envoys arrived bearing his ultimatum: "Toqtamish has
killed my son, and has since sought refuge with you. I demand the surrender of
my enemy. If you refuse, we must choose a battlefield."
"Oooh," Idiku murmured for Ned's ears only. "That is the wrong tone to take to
Timur."
Indeed it was. Timur glowered at the envoys. "If the khan's son had stayed
where he belonged, instead of infringing on my territory, he would be alive
today. Return to Urus Khan and tell him that I not only accept his challenge,
but also that I am ready, and my soldiers are like lions, who do

not live in the forest but have their den in the battlefield. If he is smart,
he will hasten out of my territory before his own life is forfeit."
Then, when the envoys had departed, he turned to Idiku. "Follow them by secret
patrols. I want to know exactly where the khan is camped."
Idiku turned to Ned, his mouth quirking. "Christian, get your horse. You know
what to do."
"Yes, sir." As Ned turned to obey, he saw Toqtamish smile. They all knew what
was happening. The khan's arrogant message had made the matter personal for
Timur.
Ned was one of several who trailed the envoys, staying always out of their
sight. It was easy to track the prints of their horses, or to lie hidden near
their likely trails and see them pass. When he was sure of their trail, he
marked it so that Timur's scouts could follow it.
Timur himself marched soon after. Now Ned became a scout, leading the troops
along the trail he had helped mark. The khan was in for an ugly surprise, for
he would find himself surprised before he was organized for battle.
The White Horde force was camped near the city of Signakhi, one of those from
which it had displaced Toqtamish. Timur brought his own army to the plains of
Otrar, twenty-four leagues away.
But the weather interfered. There was a terrible rainstorm, followed by such
intense cold that lasted so long that it prevented any action though that

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winter. Timur chafed at the forced inaction, but would not act until he was
sure he could do so effectively. The men were given rotating leave to visit
the city, but remained always on ready alert. That meant that Ned could not
visit his home city of Sabran, or attend the Nestorian church there, though it
was only a few leagues away. In any event, it was uncertain under whose
control the city was at the moment. He hoped his family was not suffering
unduly.
Food became so scarce that Timur commanded his generals and lesser officers,
on pain of death, to see to it that no one in the army should bake bread for
himself. All the food was redistributed, the generals and princes getting
precisely the same rations as the private soldiers and servants. No one was
allowed to eat anything more than thin gruel. One bag of flour, together with
a few herbs, supplied sixty dishes: one dish of broth for each soldier, each
day. The soldiers searched for eggs of waterbirds, for animals, for edible
plants -- anything to supplement the ration of gruel.
Finally, after three months, the weather eased. Timur sent a detachment of 500
men out under two commanders to attack the enemy in the night.
But the Mongols had spies too. They were met by a force of three thousand
commanded by the khan's third son, Malik. The fighting was fierce, and one of
Timur's commanders was killed, but Malik was wounded in the leg and had to
retreat. The victory went to the Turks.
Then Urus Khan sent out a scouting force of 200 men. This force stumbled on a
smaller force of Turks that was returning from Otrar after provisioning troops
there. The Turks fled. When the Mongols got spread out in their pursuit, the
Turks whirled around on them and cut them to pieces. The Mongols had fallen
for the oldest trick in the Mongol book, the mock retreat.
Discouraged by these failures, Urus Khan returned home, though the bulk of his
army was untouched. Timur also retired from the field, having won back his
territory by default, though that was not his preferred way.
Now at last Ned got to visit his family in Sabran. His little sister Lin
kissed him. So, to his surprise, did her companion Wildflower, who had once
been a Mongol princess. The girl had helped take care of him during a severe
illness, and did seem to like him. He found them all in good health, but
somewhat worn by the long threat of a siege by one side or the other. Food was
scarce, because the two armies had raided the supplies.

But he could not stay long, because as soon as the weather turned favorable,
Timur set out once more. This time he advanced into the territory of the White
Horde, giving Toqtamish command of the advance guard. The Mongol prince knew
the way, and guided the army so effectively that in fifteen days they reached
the interior town of Geiran Kamish, "The Reeds of the Deer." They had
attracted little or no notice.
The inhabitants were taken completely by surprise, and put up no effective
defense. The army pillaged the town and captured large numbers of sheep,
camels, and horses.
Best of all, they learned at this time that Urus Khan was dead.
Apparently he had been ill, and that was one reason he had retreated. The
rigors of the campaign had worn him down beyond recovery.
Timur, well satisfied with these successes, decided to return to his other
campaigns. He was, after all, in the process of conquering Persia from the
remnants of the former Mongol khanate there, and the job couldn't wait
indefinitely. Now that he had protected his flank, he left Toqtamish with
enough troops to uphold his pretense to the throne of the White Horde and gave
him a fine horse. This was Kunk Oghlan, sired from Timur's own stallion, and
famous for his speed.
Now that the Mongol prince was settled in, Idiku Berlas was settled too, and
no longer needed Ned's help in the field. So Ned was given leave to rejoin his
family in Sabran, though subject to recall at any time. He rode south with his
share of the booty: several fat sheep.

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He was welcomed again by the enthusiastic embraces of his little sisters, Lin
and Wildflower, and Flo was much gratified to have the sheep.
"Wool and meat," she said. "Exactly what we need."
Ned settled down to do what he most enjoyed: designing military architecture.
He had had experience formulating city walls, and had once advised a local
leader in the design and use of such defenses. He had learned much during the
recent campaigns against the Mongols and enjoyed analyzing and trying to
improve on them in retrospect.
But he wasn't given much time to himself before something astonishing came up.
Ned looked up from his architectural draft to see the solid shadow of his
elder sister Flo approaching. It was unusual for her to come to his place of
work, so he suspected she had some serious concern.
"We must talk," she said.
That confirmed it. He gave her his full attention.
"I have two concerns. One you surely know of: there is agitation against the
Nestorian Christians in the city. We arrived here at a bad time."
He knew it. They had fled physical illness only to discover the emotional
illness of religious persecution. The majority of the city's inhabitants were
Moslem, and they resented having what they called infidels among them. The
Mongol rulers of old had been largely indifferent to religious matters, and
did not persecute anyone for his faith, but much went on that was beneath the
notice of the rulers. Now the Mongols themselves were becoming
Moslem, and their attitudes were changing.
"They choose to blame us for the ills war has brought to the city," Ned said.
"This is nonsensical. It is the warring between Mongol factions that has done
it, and the ineptness of Timur's governance." Here in the privacy of his
family he could speak freely. He had nothing but admiration for Timur's
prowess in the field, but the man paid almost no attention to the ordinary
running of his empire.
"It is easier to blame a small minority than to blame either Timur or the
Mongols," Flo said darkly. "The minority can't strike back."
He nodded. "You wish to move to a more comfortable city? We might find good
work in Samarkand."

"No. I prefer to gain protection by seeking the favor of the khan." She meant
the pretender, who held power in this region only.
He laughed. "How long do you think Toqtamish will last? The plotters and
rebels will soon bring him down. Again."
"Maybe not." She paused, then changed the subject. "Wildflower loves you."
"And I love her. She's a nice girl, just like one of the family. She tended me
when I was deathly ill."
"You misunderstand. She's a woman, and she wants to marry you."
Ned's jaw dropped. "She's my little sister!"
"No. She is not your sister. We took her in when she was caught between
Mongol family feuds, and saved her from likely death."
"But not from rape," he agreed, remembering. "Lin smuggled her out of danger,
but too late to spare her that. But she has adapted very nicely. She might as
well be a sibling. She's almost as pretty as Lin, when allowance is made for
her Mongol heritage, and quite fair of form." He had noticed that several
months before, when the girl had had occasion to strip in his presence. He had
felt guilty for noticing.
"Indeed. She is a princess, cousin to Toqtamish. Now that he has power, she is
no longer a refugee, but a person of note."
"Good for her! She can take her place in his court, as long as it lasts."
"Yes. But she won't go."
"Why not? She would be better off there, than with a persecuted minority."
"Because she loves you."
Again he took stock. "And you don't mean just as a sibling. She has a crush on
me. But surely it will pass. I assure you, I have never given her any

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encouragement of that nature."
"You have been largely oblivious, except for your guilt when you see her
naked."
He had hoped that Flo had not grasped that awkwardness. Flo believed in
cleanliness, so they all had to wash periodically, and sometimes he saw his
sisters naked. It could not be helped, but they did have breasts and fur, and
looked like women, and at times it was hard for him to remain properly
neutral. "Well, it is not proper to lust after one's sister."
"She is not your sister," Flo repeated.
"You know what I mean. I have treated her with all proper deference, and never
sought to indulge in anything untoward."
"Ned, you are our smartest family member, but you can be monumentally stupid
about women."
"To my everlasting shame," he agreed. "When Wona -- "
"Forget about Wona! She's gone. You are of age and maturity to marry, and you
could do infinitely worse for a wife than Wildflower."
He stared at her. "Are you suggesting that I -- take advantage of a girl's
passing fancy, to get into her skirt?"
Flo met his gaze with a hard intensity he seldom saw in her. "No. I am
suggesting that you marry a young woman who is worthy of you."
"But why? I agree that she is a nice girl, with an appealing body, but that's
no reason to -- "
"You need a more practical reason than the love of a woman who could make you
happy?"
"Yes! Because it would not be fair to her, to prey upon her naivete. I
know the evil of that. Wona -- "
"Wona preyed on yours," she agreed. "And you found ecstasy amidst the guilt.
Your determination not to do that to another person is worthy. But this is not
that. Wildflower truly loves you, and will give you her body without

guilt. We of the family approve."
"The family has discussed this?" he asked, appalled.
"We had to. Bry and Lin were attacked in the street this morning. For being
Christians. They got away without suffering harm, but it is an evil signal."
Ned felt a cold and angry shiver. "Sam knows of this?"
"Yes. But we agreed that violence is not the answer. We need protection."
"I will certainly agree to move! I don't want anything to happen to my
siblings. Or to Wildflower."
"Then marry Wildflower."
He looked blankly at her. "What has this to do with danger in the streets?"
"If you marry her, you will be related to the future khan of the White
Horde."
Now at last he understood her import. He could at one stroke bring the family
unparalleled protection. Nobody harassed kinsmen of the Mongol khan.
Not in this city. Not anywhere within the domains of the pretender to the
throne of the White Horde. Not as long as he retained power.
"But it would be using her!" he protested. "Not merely sexually, but
politically. She is a Mongol princess. We have no right to do that to her."
"She suggested it," Flo replied evenly.
"She -- " He broke off, astonished.
"She really does want to marry you, Ned. And she brings a dowry we can not
decline. We can be safe -- if you only oblige her love."
"If I only seduce an innocent girl! Flo, where is the honor in this?"
"I said it would be a good marriage. I know you, Ned; I know she is right for
you. Your idiocy is in refusing to see it. If you will not do it because of
love, do it to save the welfare and perhaps the lives of your siblings. It
will not be an unkind or difficult relationship, I promise you.
You can love her, if you allow it."
He shook his head. "Surely Wona used a similar rationalization when she

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decided to prey on a naive lad." Then he thought of something else. "She is a
Mongol princess, and needs to hide it no longer. What would Toqtamish think of
this? Of her marrying an infidel?"
"We are about to find out. She is traveling to see her cousin now. If he gives
her leave, she will marry you."
"And you are telling me to marry her."
"Yes. We believe it is best, all things considered. It will help the family
survive, it will satisfy her love, and it will fulfill your life in a way you
don't yet appreciate. It is an unusually good solution to a combination of
problems."
"I'll think about it," he said shortly.
"You have until she returns from her visit to her cousin."
She seemed so sure he would agree!
Meanwhile, there was their situation in an environment becoming increasingly
hostile. They were careful, but the mood of the city was bad and getting
worse. Scapegoats were needed, and Christians were the most likely candidates.
Their little Nestorian church was suffering defacement. If it hadn't been
built of solid stone, with thick Walls and small windows, the damage would
have been worse. It was clear that they would have to leave soon, if they
didn't get protection. Yet it would probably be about as bad in other cities.
Moslems were many, and Christians few, in the Mongol and the Persian realms.
Ned wrestled with his mixed emotions. It was true that Wildflower was
unrelated to him, and that she was attractive. But she remained a sister in
his mind, and he felt guilty even thinking about her sexually. How could he

marry such a girl? Yet he feared he had to. He wished he could talk to her, to
try to make her see that this was not a good thing to do. But she was away,
and anyway, he wasn't sure his arguments would be persuasive. Flo and the
family thought it was right to do, and they generally did know. So was he the
one who was wrong?
In the end, he concluded that the need of the family probably outweighed his
personal scruples. He would have to marry her, and try to consummate the
union, though he knew that the guilt spawned by Wona would interfere.
Logically the situations were not really analogous, but in his feeling they
were. With Wona, it had been a betrayal of the family; with Wildflower, it
would be in support of the family. So they were different. If only he could
believe that!
Then Wildflower returned. "I'm going to marry him!" Lin reported overhearing.
"She's hardly older than you," Ned said. "Do you think it's right?"
"She's a full fourteen. That's old enough. And she's got the body." Lin passed
one hand down her front, disparagingly. She was still thirteen, and of rather
slight development. But her face was pretty, and when her body followed, she
would be the loveliest girl of the family, as long as she wore gloves.
"If you liked a man, and he had sex with you, would it be right?" he asked
her. "Just because you were willing?"
"She's more than willing, Ned. She really does love you. Besides, you're not
just romancing her; you're marrying her." She paused, glancing at him
sidelong. "Aren't you?"
"Yes," he said heavily. "Yes, I am." And that was his point of final decision.
"Then maybe you had better go propose to her. A girl likes that."
That hadn't occurred to him. "I have no idea what to say!"
Lin assumed a pose. She took his hand and gazed into his eyes. "
'Wildflower, please marry me.' Then kiss her."
He had to laugh. But it was serious. That was exactly how he should do it.
Except for one thing: "You are confusing popular fancy with Nestorian
practice," he told her. "There is supposed to be no direct contact or
conversation between the prospective bride and groom. The families negotiate
the financial aspects of the wedding, bride-gift, dowry, and so on. It is a
business proposition."

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"I knew that," Lin said, remembering. "And once it's all agreed, the father of
the bride gives a feast."
"And a priest or bishop consecrates a ring and gives it to the groom, who
arranges to have it delivered to the bride, via a trusted matron who has the
confidence of all parties."
"Yes, it would be too bad if she ran away with the ring!" Lin agreed,
giggling.
"And if the bride agrees to the marriage, she puts on the ring as a symbol of
their betrothal. From then on the bond between them has all the force of
marriage, and any infidelities incur similar punishment, though they still
live apart."
"Yes, isn't it romantic!" she agreed. "And the wedding festival takes a whole
week. The bride looks great in her rich veil, and friends throw raisins and
small coins so she'll be fruitful." She giggled again. "Fruits to the
fruitful. I love that."
"We all live together in this one house," Ned said. "So how is any of that to
be accomplished here?"
She considered, mildly crestfallen. "Oh."
"It would be impossible for bride and groom to live apart, even if we had the
resources for gifts and all," he concluded. "And neither bride nor

groom has parents to negotiate the deal."
Then Lin brightened. "So maybe you'll have to do it my way after all."
Ned sighed. "I suppose so. Certainly I wouldn't arrange anything like this for
Wildflower unless I was quite sure that she, herself, really wanted it."
"So ask her, just the way I told you."
He nodded. He rehearsed it in his mind, so that he wouldn't flub it.
Then Flo appeared, with Wildflower at her side. She looked meaningfully at
Ned. He realized that Flo must have sent Lin to prepare him, and been waiting
close by for him to get ready. They had organized this like a military
campaign, and he was the target.
He walked across the room and took Wildflower's hand. "Wildflower, please
marry me."
"Yes!" the girl exclaimed. She flung her arms around his neck, pulled his head
down, and kissed him soundly on the mouth. The funny thing was that it was
quite pleasant. She was a sweet creature.
There was polite applause. The other members of the family had quietly arrived
and witnessed the exchange.
"We must do it quickly," Flo said. "I will prepare for the ceremony next
week."
So soon! But Ned knew why; they needed the protection the marriage afforded
immediately. They also could not be sure when he would be called back into
military service.
They compressed the ritual to make it fit their resources. Sam, speaking in
lieu of the groom's father, talked with Dirk, who spoke in lieu of the bride's
father. The bishop at the church consecrated a ring and gave it to
Ned. Ned gave it to Lin, who was absolutely thrilled to play the role of
"trusted matron." She took it to Wildflower, who immediately put it on.
The following week they held the ceremony. It was done without great fanfare,
because of the likelihood of persecution, but it was done according to the
rites of Nestorian Christianity. Sam and Bry celebrated as companions of the
groom, and Dirk and Ittai represented men of the bride's family.
Wildflower was ushered into the church, completely shrouded by her heavy veil
and gown. The bishop performed the ceremony, and then they all changed back to
street clothing so as to avoid possible mobbing on the streets by Moslems.
Back at the house, Wildflower donned her gown and veil again, and Jes threw
raisins at her, and one tiny coin. "Be fruitful and prosperous!" she cried,
and the others cheered. Then they scrambled to pick up the raisins, for they
were too precious to be wasted as food.

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Then, all too soon, they were alone together in their nuptial chamber.
Wildflower stood expectantly before him in her wedding robe, quite pretty. She
removed her veil, smiling.
Ned hesitated. What should he do now?
"Aren't you going to undress me?" she asked.
Of course. He went to her and fumbled with her apparel. He didn't accomplish
much.
"Maybe if I do it," she murmured. She was so young, yet she seemed more
competent than he was.
"Yes," he said, relieved.
Carefully, she dismantled her apparel, and stood at last naked before him. He
averted his gaze.
"Don't you like me?" she asked.
"Yes, of course," he said, forcing his eyes to bear on her. "Your body is very
nice."
She looked disappointed, and he realized that he should have been more
emphatic. But she rallied. "Aren't you going to undress yourself?"
Oh. He tried to remove his own clothing, with no better success than he

had had with hers. His fingers, normally nimble, seemed not to want to
cooperate.
"Maybe if I do it," she said again.
"Yes."
She gently stripped him of his clothing, until he stood naked too.
"Would you like to embrace me?" she prompted him.
He took her in his arms.
"And kiss me?"
He kissed her on the cheek.
She lifted her hands, took hold of his head, and brought it down so that his
mouth met hers. She kissed him, hard.
He pulled away.
Her eyes brimmed. "Do you hate me so much?"
"No! I -- I like you. Love you," he said without conviction.
"Am I so ugly you can't take me?" Now her tears were flowing down her face.
"No! You are beautiful."
"Your limp penis gives you the lie. You have no desire for me at all. I
should never have forced you into this."
"That's not true. I do desire you. I -- my body -- just hasn't caught up."
"Are you biting your tongue?" she demanded accusingly.
"No!"
"I'm not as good as Wona was. I don't have the breasts, the hips, the face."
She ran her hands over herself, disparagingly, in much the manner his sister
Lin had. That bothered him, for a reason he did not care to explore at the
moment.
"There is nothing wrong with your body," he said quickly. "Wona was
voluptuous, you are slender but by no means ill-formed, and to my eyes you are
lovelier than she, because you are good. I would much rather embrace you than
her."
"But you did embrace her, and not me."
He did not quibble with technicalities. He had embraced Wildflower, but not
shown desire for her. "I could not resist her. I have been ashamed ever
since."
She organized herself with a visible effort. "What did she do that you could
not resist? Tell me, so I can do it too."
He felt himself flushing. "Please, I would rather not speak of it."
She shook her head. "You owe me this much, Ned. To let me try to be at least
as much to you as she was. What did she do?"
She had a point. Reluctantly, he summoned the memory. "She was my brother's
wife. She wanted my child, to be smart. I said I saw her face, that of my

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brother's wife, and could not do it. She turned away from me, so as to hide
her face, and put my hands on her breasts." Guilt and shame surged with the
telling; it was his deepest secret, for all that Flo had somehow found out,
and acted to solve the immediate problem by exiling Wona from the family.
Wildflower turned away from him, so close her buttocks touched his thighs, and
reached back to capture his hands. She brought them up to rest on her breasts.
He knew this was hard for her; her hands were cold, and shaking.
"Squeeze," she told him.
He did, but experienced no reality of sensation. He hated reenacting what he
had done with Wona. He hated having decent Wildflower be any part of this
association. "There is -- there is nothing wrong with them," he said.
"You are not inadequate in any respect." That was the truth, but not the whole
truth.
"I must be deficient, somehow. What else?"
How could he end this, without being unfair to her? He was supposed to

be smart, but he couldn't think of any way. "She bent forward, making me hold
her hips so she would not fall."
She paused, evidently nerving herself again. "Do it."
"Please, Wildflower -- "
"I must be a woman to you. My love is not enough."
He wanted to flee this travesty, but could not. He transferred his hands to
her hips, which were very nicely rounded. Why couldn't he react to them as he
should? She bent forward so that her buttocks pressed tightly against him.
He should be wildly excited, but instead was numb in that region. "And?" she
prompted.
"And she -- she put my -- put it inside her -- "
She reached around to grasp his member. Her touch was very light and fumbling.
There was a pause. "But it must have been ready to go inside her."
"Yes," he said, doubly ashamed for his impotence.
She straightened, giving up the futile effort, and faced him. Her tears still
flowed. He understood what an effort this had been for her. She had forced
herself to most actively seek the instrument that had ravished her, and had
failed to find it. Her face was flushed with a shame that mirrored his own.
"You just don't desire me."
"I do! I just can't -- I don't understand why I can't -- "
"It's that rape!" she flared. "I am unchaste, and you are revolted. I am dirty
in your eyes, filthy, forever soiled, a thing of horror!"
She was calamitously wrong. "No! My sister was raped."
"I'm not your sister!" she screamed.
He flinched. "Yes, you are not." Now, to his added embarrassment, his own eyes
overflowed. "I am sorry, Wildflower. I wish I could -- could -- "
"Your sister," she repeated, coming to an understanding she had resisted. "You
still do see me as your sister. And a man does not lust after his sister."
"Yes." That was the essence. "I know you are not, but my body doesn't know."
"And you do feel for me. I see your tears."
"Yes." It was a perverse relief to speak the truth. "Wildflower, I know you
are everything I should want. I have no shame in marrying you. I would --
would do anything to please you. I just can't -- this part of it -- "
She seemed as relieved as he was. "Come lie with me on the bed, and we'll
talk."
So they lay, embraced, and talked, and kissed, and agreed not to tell the
others of this problem. He found himself quite comfortable with her, now that
there was no expectation of sex between them. She seemed more relaxed too, now
that she did not have to try to play the part of a seductress. He loved her,
in an ironic manner, for that ineptitude.
"I'm glad I understand," she said. "And of course I don't mind that you didn't
-- I was afraid of it, because of the rape. You could never be like that."
She was trying to console him. She had shown no fear of sex, just of

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rejection. Maybe she would have feared sex with another man, but she wanted it
with him. Yet indeed, even were her statement about being afraid true, she had
nothing to fear from him in that respect. "Oh, Wildflower, give me time. It
must change, in time."
"Of course. Meanwhile, we must say the words, until they become real. I
love you, Ned."
"I love you, Wildflower." And it was true, to a degree. But she meant it
completely, while he fell somewhere short. He loved her without sexual
passion.
Then she thought of something else. "What of the time we were naked, washing
up, and you had to bite your tongue?"

So she did know of that. "A man does not lust after his sister," he repeated.
"You were -- interesting -- and I could not afford it."
"But now you can afford it."
"Now it is not a guilty peek. Now it is legitimate. That changes it, somehow.
I knew, then, that there could be no sex. Now I know there can be, and it
prevents me."
"I don't understand that. But I believe you. Will you be with me like this
every night, so that if you ever are able, we won't lose the chance?"
"Anything you want," he agreed.
"I have heard that pretense can become real. Ned, if you care for me at all --
"
"I do! There is no pretense."
"Then hold me and kiss me and speak love to me, for I truly do love you and
would do anything for you. Please don't turn away from me."
"I will never turn away from you!"
"I fear you will tire of my kisses."
"I want your kisses." That, again, was true. He wanted very much to love her
in all the ways she desired. He knew her for a fine and lovely person,
deserving of everything.
"And I will try not to torment you unduly with my attentions."
"Stop it, Wildflower! The failure is mine, not yours." Then he drew her in and
kissed her repeatedly, and she responded avidly, and he almost felt a stirring
of answering desire.
In due course they slept, and he woke in the night with her arm across his
chest and her breast against his side, and started to react, until he
remembered her identity.
He woke in the morning before she did, and gazed at her face in repose.
She was lovely, and her body was lovely. If only, by some magic, he could
forget she was his sister, for all that it was a lie.
He bent his head down and kissed her mouth. Her lips were flaccid in sleep,
but then they woke and became firm.
Her eyes opened. "Oh, thank you, Ned! I love you."
"I love you," he echoed, glad that he had awakened her in this way.
She caught his hand and brought it to her breast. "Can you -- ?"
Regretfully, he shook his head.
She brightened. "Maybe if I cover up my face, so you don't know it's me?"
"That would be unfaithfulness, at least in spirit. I can at least be faithful
to you, Wildflower."
"That's the loveliest answer, Ned! I will cherish it forever."
She should be so easy to love! And he did love her, behind the barrier of his
impotence. So he kissed her again, and it was good. At least he was trying.
In due course they got up, cleaned, and dressed. Wildflower gave him a
straight look. "Let's not speak of this night to others."
"It is a private matter," he agreed, once more relieved. She was being so
loyal and supportive! Exactly as a good wife should be. "Let them assume what
they choose."
She reconsidered. "I can fool them. But maybe you can't. So you should refer

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any questions to me."
"Yes." He knew she would not lie, but neither would she let slip the truth.
She would protect his privacy in a way others would misunderstand.
The more he reflected on that, the better he liked it. Flo was right:
Wildflower was the perfect match for him.
He saw her glancing at him, wondering at his silence. So he spoke.
"Wildflower, I want you to know that I am doing this simply because I want
to." Then he embraced her and kissed her several times.

"I thank you for that gift," she replied. Then she returned the favor.
Soon it was time to go out and meet the others. "Now I must return to see the
khan," she said.
"The khan? Why?"
"Because you married me to save your family. I must tell the khan we are
married, so that the word spreads."
"But you just visited him, to get permission. Isn't that all that is
necessary?"
"No. I must tell him myself. So he can appoint you to a good position."
"A good position! I did not marry you for such a commercial reason!"
"I know. But I love you, and I want you to have it."
"I have just failed you, and you want to reward me?"
She stroked his cheek. "When you love me as I love you, you will understand."
"I truly do not deserve such love."
"You truly do deserve it. You are the smartest, nicest, handsomest man I
know."
He didn't know how to argue with that, so he just stroked her dark hair.
But before Wildflower could travel again, the political situation changed. The
news spread rapidly through the city: Urus Khan had been succeeded by his
eldest son Tokhta-qiya, but the new khan had died almost immediately, leaving
the throne of the White Horde to the surviving son, Malik. This had seemed
like easy prey to Toqtamish, who had marched to attack, but once again the
Mongols had proved to be superior in battle to the mixed forces of the
pretender. Toqtamish had been driven from the territory of the
White Horde, and had fled a fourth time for refuge with Timur. And once again
Timur showered his vassal with riches and honor.
But Wildflower's trip had become pointless. However well her cousin was being
received by Timur, the fact was that he had proved to be repeatedly inept in
battle, and lacked any real power. Timur's patience must be about exhausted.
"I have failed you," Wildflower said dispiritedly. "You married me for
nothing."
"You have failed in nothing," Ned told her.
But Bry and Lin did not dare go out in the streets without Sam to guard them.
The persecution was back in force.
They endured for several months. Wildflower turned fifteen, but it made no
difference to their marriage; Ned could embrace her and kiss her and talk to
her, but he could not be potent with her.
Then as fall came, things changed again. Ned was abruptly recalled to service.
He suspected that he knew why: A refugee from the White Horde had arrived at
Timur's court and told stories of how Malik was losing the support of his
tribes. He had gained a reputation for debauchery. He lay abed until
midmorning, delaying the main meal of the day, and no one dared disturb him.
He was oppressive, and the people were weary of his rule. Many wished for the
return of Toqtamish, who had had a better sense of the duties of a leader.
Ned kissed Wildflower. "You may yet be a princess again," he told her.
"Just keep safe, my love," she replied. "You are all I want."
That made him feel guilty again. She offered him so much, and he gave her only
the semblance of a marriage. He rode to join Idiku Berlas at
Signakhi, where Toqtamish was camped. He became a scout again, as Toqtamish
marched north against Malik with troops provided by Timur. He had his own

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equipment, for each warrior had to provide himself with his own bow, thirty
arrows, a quiver, and a shield. Armorers were at work, providing harnesses and
shirts of mail. There was a spare horse for every two men, and a tent for
every ten men. Each complement of ten had two spades, a pickaxe, a sickle, a
saw, a hatchet, an awl, a hundred needles, thread, casting nets, and a big

iron saucepan. Each chief gave a written undertaking, to assure that troops
would arrive at a given rendezvous.
This time Toqtamish paid close attention to the counsel of Timur's military
advisers. They caught Malik at his winter camp in the hills, and defeated him.
Malik fled with the core of his followers, and Toqtamish ascended the throne
without further opposition. He was at last khan of the
White Horde.
They arrived at the capital city. The khan was not in the royal tent, but in a
magnificently decorated pavilion, as was his custom every Friday after
prayers. It was constructed of wooden rods covered with plaques of silver
gilt, their bases inset with precious stones. Beside it a huge tent had been
erected, its supporting columns gleaming. There were awnings of cotton and
linen cloth, and it was carpeted with silken rugs. In the center was an
immense couch made of inlaid wood whose planks were covered with a large rug.
The khan and his principal wife would sit on cushions here when receiving
visitors. But at the moment that couch was not in use.
Wildflower kissed Ned, suppressing her extreme nervousness. "I must leave you
for a time," she said.
"Why? Am I not your husband?"
"It is a ceremonial thing. I will return to you as soon as I can."
"But we are about to see the khan."
"I must see him alone, my husband. Then he will send for you."
"This is not protocol."
She looked him in the eye. "Please, Ned."
Bemused, he yielded to her requirement. She walked to the entrance of the
pavilion.
One of the guards stopped her. "No one enters the presence of the khan
unannounced."
"I am his cousin, the Princess Wildflower. Announce me for a private
audience."
"You are garbed as a common scullery maid."
"Look at me and tell me I am not a Mongol." She removed her kerchief to show
her glossy black hair and dusky skin, and turned on the imperial visage.
She had schooled herself in the way of a lowly peasant girl, but she had not
forgotten her origin.
A guard went in to check. Soon he emerged, looking slightly dazed. "He will
see you."
She brushed past him. Toqtamish was seated on his couch, alone, facing south.
He was tall and handsome, as she remembered him, a man of her dead father's
age. He did not move as she approached.
She stopped at the proper distance and dropped to her knees, bowing her head.
Then she went down farther, into a full prostrate obeisance.
"Cousin, what is the meaning of this?" the khan demanded after a significant
pause.
"My lord, you forbade me to marry the Christian. I disobeyed. I have come to
receive my just punishment. You may slay me now for my insolence."
"You have nerve, Cousin. I thought you would not tell me."
"I am of your blood. Courage runs in the family."
"Get up from the floor, you scoundrel."
She got slowly to her feet. She put her hands to her neck and pulled out the
collar, baring somewhat more than her neck for his gaze. "Here is my neck for
your blade."
He ignored that. "Why? Why did you bring this shame on the family?"

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"I love him."
"That is not enough. A royal Mongol does not allow love to interfere with
expediency. Why did you do it?"

"His family saved my life, after I was ravished. Now they are being
persecuted. They must have protection."
"So he prevailed on you to marry him?"
"No, Lord. He did not want to marry me. I prevailed on him, using this
argument."
"Not good enough. No man would not want to marry a Mongol princess. Why did
you do it?"
He had asked her three times. Now she had to give her most genuine reason. "I
want you to give him a good position. One fitting a royal relative."
"A position! For a miscreant Christian?"
She remained silent, eyes downcast, in what she hoped was the picture of
maidenly innocence and disappointment.
The khan let her remain that way for a number of heartbeats, then relented.
"Oh, stop it! You know I'm not going to kill you. Your mother was always my
favorite cousin, and you do take after her, even in your mischief."
She raised her eyes. "Thank you, Lord."
"I will do it. But you must pay me, as your mother would."
"Anything, Lord." She didn't mind that her tears of relief and gratitude
showed. He could indeed have killed her, despite his protestation. But it had
been a gamble she had to take.
"Tell me your darkest secret."
And she had to do it, according to the private protocol between them.
Her mother had told her of the secret games that she and Toqtamish had played
as children, and the minor yet sacred trysts they had kept. They had been
ready to deceive anyone else, but never each other. "My husband is impotent
with me."
"Impotent! How can this be?"
"He sees me as his sister."
The khan shook his head. "The man's an idiot."
"No, Lord. He is a genius. And a man of honor. That is part of why I
love him. He just isn't very smart about women."
"True words!" The khan rose from his couch and came across to embrace her.
"Were you not my cousin, I would make you my choicest wife, you delightful
creature. How well you understand our nuances. We will not speak of the
substance of this dialogue elsewhere." That was part of the protocol; her
mother had told her of the games, but not revealed any actual secrets. "Send
him in."
"Thank you, Cousin!"
She started to back away, but he stopped her with a gesture. "If you are to be
married to the lout, it must be by a proper Moslem ceremony. He must not
remain a Christian. I trust you informed him of this?"
"I saw no point, Lord."
Toqtamish glowered. "No point! No Moslem woman can marry out of the faith, and
it would be intolerable for a princess to take up with an infidel.
You know this. How could you neglect such a requirement?"
"There was no point, if I was going to die before consummation," she
explained.
He gazed at her for a time. "You gambled heavily, Cousin."
"Sometimes one must gamble, if one is to win."
He nodded. "And suppose he refuses to convert?"
"I will persuade him," she said.
"If you can't persuade him to plumb you, how can you hope to persuade him to
do something important? Christians can be obstinate."
"I will do it," she said, hoping it was so.
"Your daring compels my admiration, Cousin. You say he really has not

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penetrated you?"

She blushed. "I'm sure he will, in time. He wants to."
"Of course he wants to, you beautiful siren! But he hasn't."
"He hasn't, yet," she agreed.
"So you remain pristine for the wedding."
That was another awkward point. "Not exactly. I -- "
"Do not speak of the past. No one here knows of it. You are pristine."
"If you say so, Lord." It was true that no one in this court would speak of
what the khan decreed unspeakable. She was now legally virginal, as a
Mongol princess should be. Actually Mongols considered fifteen to be a
suitable age for a girl to marry, but she was acceptable for sexual congress
from age ten on. So most brides were well experienced by the time they
married, albeit only with the men they married. So the khan was holding her,
as a princess, to a higher standard than usual, officially. So that no one
would dare whisper of her shame of getting raped.
"So you must remain aloof from him until the wedding, so that there will be no
risk of scandal. Go into seclusion."
"But I must persuade him!"
"I will do that."
She was startled. "You, Lord? But -- "
He frowned. "You doubt my ability?"
She paused, to phrase her response carefully. She could afford neither to
insult him nor to trust him too far. "I fear your ability, Lord."
"Don't. I will accomplish it without bloodshed."
She remained wary. "If he dies -- "
"He will not."
"If you threaten him -- "
"I will not threaten him. I will merely reason with him. You say he is smart.
He will appreciate my point."
That seemed tight. This was more than she had hoped for. No reprisal against
Ned, and a formal royal wedding! She bowed her head. "Thank you, Lord."
"And if he does not consummate that marriage promptly, he will be executed for
treason."
She stared at him in horror, discovering the loophole in her deal. She had not
protected Ned after the wedding. "My Lord -- "
Then he smiled, to a degree. "My little joke."
But she wasn't sure it was. Her cousin sometimes delighted in unusual cruelty.
"Lord, the hour after he dies, so do I." Then, after a pause, she smiled,
emulating his smile exactly. "My joke, too." Perhaps that would be enough to
dissuade Toqtamish. If not, she would make good her threat, on schedule.
He snapped his fingers. A woman appeared at the east side of the tent.
Wildflower went to the woman, and followed her silently out a side exit.
Ned saw a guard emerge from the royal pavilion. The man beckoned. "What
happened in there?" Ned asked. "Where is my wife?"
"The khan has granted you an audience. Leave your weapons here."
Perplexed, Ned stripped himself of sword and dagger, setting them on the
ground to his left. "As you wish." He approached the door, and the guards let
him pass.
The khan was seated on his couch, resplendent in royal robes.
Ned stopped at a suitable distance from the couch and bowed his head, waiting
to be addressed.
"Who are you?"
"Lord, I am Ned, of the family of Sam, a sometime scout in the service of
Timur." It was clear that Toqtamish did not recognize him as the one who had
found him by the river. Ned was just one of thousands the khan had

routinely dealt with.

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"My cousin tells me she married you, according to Christian rite."
"Yes, Lord."
"She tells me you are a man of honor."
"Yes, Lord."
"She required me to give you a position."
"I did not ask for this, Lord."
"Will you serve me with absolute loyalty?"
"If you require it, Lord. So long as it does not conflict with my personal
code of honor or my prior loyalty to Timur, whom I would never treat
treacherously."
"I do require it."
"Then I hereby give you my oath."
"How can you be of best use to me?"
Ned hesitated. "It is not for me to say, Lord."
"Is this how you honor your recent oath of loyalty?"
"I fear giving offense."
"Then brave your fear."
He had to answer with candor. "Lord, I believe I could give you better
military advice than you have had before."
"How so?"
"You have suffered military reverses, so that Timur found it necessary to aid
you. I know something of military strategy."
"A Christian architect? What could you know of military matters?"
"A military architect, Lord. I have had some experience advising a military
leader. I believe I could improve your defense -- and your offense."
"I have experts for these things -- men who have trained all their lives. You
must be a relative amateur. You feel you know better than they?"
"I mean no offense, Lord, but it is possible that they are too set in
conventional ways. I have studied some of the campaigns of Timur. He is a
military genius. He seldom does what others expect, and so he brings them
down."
Toqtamish was thoughtful. "He does have the touch. He may have lost some
battles early in his career, but he suffers reverses now only when a general
goes counter to orders and botches it. He has certainly helped me."
"Yes, Lord. If you could follow similar strategies, you should be similarly
successful -- without requiring his help."
"Without again requiring his help," Toqtamish said. "This has considerable
appeal."
Ned was silent, realizing that the comment was not an invitation to speak
further.
"How is it that you did not try to remind me of what you did for me at
Syr Darya?"
Ned was startled. "I did not think you remembered, Lord."
"I told you I would remember. I do not encounter many Christians who are not
seeking my blood. Did you doubt my word?"
"Oh, no, Lord! But it was hardly my place to seek favors for doing my duty."
"Your duty may have saved my life. You brought a party to my rescue when the
enemy was about to catch me. Now my cousin swears by you. These are good
recommendations."
Ned was silent. Now he understood that the khan had had reason to interview
him, and to trust him. Otherwise Ned might never have made it to the city. It
would have been easy for the khan to have a party kill him on the way,
rendering his marriage to Wildflower academic.
"That cross you wear -- I remembered that, of course. Is it true that the
cross is a symbol of the manner your religious leader was tortured to

death?"
Ned thought it best not to argue theology. "It is true, Lord."
"He must have been a brave man."

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"We consider him so. He remained true to his way despite all his enemies could
do."
Toqtamish nodded approvingly. "We Mongols value courage. What is the
distinction between your brand of Christianity and the variety the Byzantines
practice?"
"It is somewhat technical, Lord. You may not be interested -- " He broke off,
seeing the khan's glance of irritation. "I apologize for presuming, Lord.
The Byzantines believe that Jesus Christ was either the son of God -- that is,
Allah -- or God Himself. Nestorians believe that Jesus was mortal, and
experienced life fully in the manner of a human man. But he also partook of
the Godhead, being vested with that eternal spirit. Thus his mother Mary was
not the mother of God, but of the man in which God manifested. Jesus died, but
God of course continued."
"Just as Mohammed, the prophet of Allah, died, but Allah remains eternal."
"Yes, Lord." Again, it seemed better not to quibble.
"And for that trifling theological distinction, the Christian pope banished
your sect as heretical?"
"Yes, Lord."
"It is similar with Moslem sects. I think politics occur within religion as
well as outside it."
"Yes, Lord."
The khan came to a decision. "I will give you a try. Now understand, I
can't give you an official position, because you are a Christian. My ancestors
were indifferent to religion, but the people here are Moslem, and it would
foment dissension in the ranks. I may privately find it a nuisance, but I have
to acknowledge the passions of the people. Have you a way around that?"
"I agree, Lord. I shall be satisfied if you listen to what I have to say, and
give my notions what trial you deem fair. I need no official position. Could
you make me your body servant?"
"To tend my clothing? To dump my chamber pot? These functions are fulfilled by
slaves, not free men! Wildflower would never forgive me for demeaning her
husband so."
"Maybe if you put a better title on it. Chief valet, perhaps. To ensure that
your slaves do not err, perhaps causing you embarrassment. Then we could
converse at your convenience, and you can send me away when you tire of me."
"I will try it. But understand this: if your advice puts me into difficulty, I
will banish you to another city."
"Of course, Lord."
"One other detail. You will have to convert to Islam."
Ned was amazed. "Lord, I thought you accepted me as adviser as I am."
"Yes. As adviser. But not to marry my cousin. A Moslem woman may not marry
outside the true faith."
"But we are already married!"
Toqtamish stroked his beard. "That does complicate it. Then I shall have to
execute her for violating the word of the prophet. That will free you from
that awkwardness, so you can serve me as a Christian. Too bad; I rather like
her."
Ned realized that he was being put to a test. "If one of us must die, it
should be me. Wildflower is blameless."
"No, I need you. You did not violate your honor; she violated hers. So it must
be her."
Was the khan bluffing? Ned was much afraid he wasn't. The Mongols were famous
for solving problems with brutal efficiency. Wildflower could indeed

die. "I will convert."
Toqtamish pulled on a cord, not even acknowledging his victory. Ned heard
nothing, but in a moment a commander appeared. "I am appointing this man chief
of my personal arrangements. He will be with me often, and will have complete
freedom of my presence. If he speaks to you with a message from me, honor it."

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The man nodded respectfully, and backed away. It would be done.
"Have you any questions?"
"Lord, I know little of royal Mongol attire, let alone the requirements of the
Moslem faith. If there could be someone to instruct me, at first -- "
"It will be done. Anything else?"
"No, Lord. I shall be happy to rejoin my wife now."
"That is not possible."
Ned stared at the khan, not knowing what to make of this.
Toqtamish smiled. "No, nothing has happened to her. Nothing will. She must be
married according to Moslem rites. She has therefore gone into seclusion until
the wedding. You will see her then."
Ned realized that any protest would be dangerous. He nodded.
The khan snapped his fingers. A servant appeared. "Conduct this man to my
apartment and see to his comfort."
The servant nodded, and waited for Ned. Ned bowed again to the khan and backed
away. When the khan averted his gaze, tacitly recognizing that the visitor was
now beyond his awareness, Ned crossed to the servant, and followed him out the
back. He wasn't sure what would happen to his sword and dagger, but knew that
they would be attended to.
The servant brought him to an elegant tent suite in the city. The
Mongols simply didn't use buildings the way others did; they were always ready
to move on at short notice. But that did not mean that the royal ones suffered
privation. This tent was the virtual equivalent of a palace wing. "Sahara will
see to your needs," he said, turning away.
A strikingly lovely young woman of Mongol stock appeared. "You are the new
valet?" she inquired in a dulcet tone.
"Yes. You are Sahara? I will need instruction in that office, and in the
Moslem faith." Ned remained bemused at his sudden conversion, but with
Wildflower's life at stake he had had no choice. Now he would have to follow
through, for he would not cheat in this, however forced the decision had been.
"First you must dress appropriately. The khan must not be seen in the company
of a peasant."
"These clothes are all I have with me."
"I will attend to it. This way."
He followed her through several corridors walled off by hanging carpets and
tapestries until they came to a huge bronze tub decorated with the stylized
Mongol representations of predators and birds of prey. Ned looked into the hot
water, uncertain where to go next.
"This is for you," Sahara said. "I will take your old robes."
"But this -- this must be the khan's bath," he protested.
"It is. So you had better be finished before he returns."
"But I can't use his bath!"
She eyed him. "I suppose I could wash you standing beside it, but that would
not be as effective. I prefer to wash you in it."
"Wash me in it!" he exclaimed. "I don't want you present."
"Khan's orders," she said. "It would not be wise to evade them."
"You're sure? That he wants this?"
"Quite sure, Lord Valet."
Still he hesitated. "Who are you? I mean, what is your position?"
"I am one of the wider pool of women who serve the khan in whatever manner he
wishes."

"A concubine?"
She frowned. "Unfortunately, I did not achieve that honor. I am a dancer who
learned the necessary arts, but was chosen for other purposes. But I am glad
to serve in whatever other manner he chooses. Now he has decreed that I
prepare you and instruct you in the rudiments of the position to which you
have been appointed."
"Rudiments? I should learn it properly."

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"There is no need. His regular staff will attend to it."
"But -- "
"You are of course aware that you hold this position in name only. The khan
wishes merely to converse with you when he finds it convenient."
Evidently the instructions had been a good deal more detailed than had seemed
possible. "Then I must trust you to guide me correctly. But is it really
necessary that you attend to me in this particular fashion?"
"Yes."
It occurred to him that the khan was testing him. Did the Mongol want him to
be diverted by this comely woman, and change his mind about remarrying
Wildflower? That would be a convenient way to salvage a princess from marriage
to an infidel. But the very notion of hurting Wildflower that way appalled
him. So he would brave the khan's temptation and remain true.
He stripped his clothing efficiently and stepped into the huge bath. He had to
admit it was a pleasure, for he was grimy from travel, and unlike many, he did
prefer cleanliness. It was probably a legacy of Flo's attitude in that
respect. He sank into the water, reveling in its comfort. There was a broad
stone bench set at a level to allow him to sit with the water up to his chest.
Sahara disappeared with his old clothing, then reappeared with what looked
like a costly robe. She set this on a counter. Then she stood before the bath
and began to remove her own clothing.
Ned was about to ask her what she was doing, but feared she would give an
honest answer, so stifled it. He proceeded to wash himself, staying mostly
submerged.
Sahara stood directly before him, stripping to the waist so that her large and
well formed breasts were prominent. Then she stripped the rest of the way, and
turned around so that he could see every part of her. He looked, determined
not to give her or the khan the satisfaction of making him retreat,
figuratively. She was as appealing a figure of a woman as he had ever seen.
Even Wona had not been this generously endowed. The khan was certainly able to
get the best.
"Now I will wash you," she said, and stepped into the bath with him.
How far would she take it? Just as far as he allowed, he suspected. So he
tried to ignore the provocation and act as if this were routine.
She stopped before him, her breasts floating. She reached out and massaged his
shoulders and neck. Her touch was expert, and the sensation was wonderful.
Then she moved around behind him and went over his back.
"You know your business," he murmured.
"Yes." She drew herself close to him so that her slick soft breasts pressed
against his back, and reached around to massage his chest. She lifted her legs
and sat behind him on the bench, her firm thighs embracing his hips.
Ned had controlled his reactions somewhat up till now, but this contact
overwhelmed him, and he was suddenly fully aroused. Fortunately the water
concealed his state.
Her hands worked down to massage his belly. He remained still and silent,
determined not to protest.
Then her hands found his member, and grasped it with authority. Now there was
no secret; she knew what she had accomplished. "Would you like to face me?"
she inquired in his ear. "I will do whatever you wish."
"I wish simply to finish this bath and get dressed." It required effort

to keep his voice level.
"Would you prefer to have me on a bed? I serve completely at your
convenience."
"I am a married man. I prefer to be only with my wife, in that manner."
"Your wife is surely fortunate." She finished washing him, and allowed him to
emerge from the bath. His erection had not diminished, but she took no further
note of it as she used towels to dry him. He had either passed a test
-- or failed it.

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The robe was quite warm and comfortable. Sahara tied his belt and brushed out
his hair, making him presentable. Just in time, for now the khan arrived.
The woman disappeared. Ned, uncertain what to do, followed his best judgment.
"Lord, may I help you with your clothing?"
"Don't bother. The staff already knows you are to be my companion, not a
servant. Only in public will you stand ready to carry my coat."
"I hope I can live up to your expectation."
The khan led the way through a bewildering maze of interconnecting carpeted
corridors and tents until they came to another pavilion. "Now we shall eat."
Without seeming signal, servitors arrived with steaming platters.
The khan indicated the table where they were being set. "You will sit always
at the foot. In public you will sample my food first, but in private don't
bother. I have many guards against poisoning."
"As you wish, Lord."
"The title -- only in public. Likewise speech: You need not wait to be spoken
to. If there are things you feel I should know, mention them, and I
will decline if I wish."
Ned experimented. "This seems like unusual favor for a stranger whose presence
is imposed by the whim of a willful girl."
Toqtamish laughed. "I think I like you already. I tell you privately: I
was close to Wildflower's mother, who did me many favors, and I was sorely
grieved by her death. Her daughter favors her, as I remember her as we both
emerged from childhood, and I can deny her nothing within reason. Both seem to
have had good judgment in people."
"My family felt that Wildflower was a good match for me. They are surely
correct."
"Ah -- so it was an arranged liaison."
"To a degree."
"You have reservations?"
Ned hesitated, and caught a sharp look from the khan. "I dislike the notion of
marrying for social or political advantage, but I seem to be guilty of it. I
am here because of it."
"But my cousin surely loves you."
"She is fifteen. Love comes readily to that age."
"This interests me. A lovely young princess throws herself at you, and you
hesitate?"
"I hesitate to use her for commercial purpose. I respect her too much for
that."
"I have one chief wife, a dozen secondary wives, and I have lost count of the
number of concubines. All of them came to me for political or commercial
advantage. I have no problem with it, so long as they are beautiful,
accommodating, and loyal."
"You are the khan."
Toqtamish nodded. "A fair answer. Why did you not take Sahara?"
Ned had seen no dialogue between the woman and the khan, yet clearly the khan
knew what had happened. "I am married."
"She knows that. She would be discreet."
"I would die before I would be false to my wife."

"You could have Sahara as a second wife."
Ned felt a chill. This was potentially considerable mischief. "Is this your
desire?"
"Is it yours?"
This remained treacherous ground. "I mean no affront to your hospitality or to
the charms of Sahara, who tempted me sorely. But a Christian takes only one
wife."
"You are no longer a Christian."
Ned had lost track of that, in the welter of new impressions. "True.
Though as yet I know too little of my new faith."

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"Sahara will instruct you. She is well versed in scripture and protocol.
By Moslem law and custom, you are not yet married to Wildflower."
"By Christian law and custom I was married to her, and my loyalty to her
remains. I would not hurt her for anything."
"Neither would I. That is one reason you are here, instead of without your
head." The khan made a gesture, indicating that the matter was of little
consequence. "But you must marry her by Moslem custom, if you are to have
royal favor."
"I am prepared to do that. Once I have mastered the requirements."
"She made a sacrifice, indulging your Christian ritual. She knew she was
agreeing to prostitute herself. But for you, she was willing."
"She is no prostitute!"
"I speak figuratively. She is a princess. But Mongol passions run strong."
Toqtamish shrugged. "Speak to me of strategy."
Ned did not question this abrupt change. He plunged in. "You have recently won
your kingdom, because of the help of Timur. If you could organize and fight as
he does, you could greatly magnify your domain."
The khan's interest quickened. "How so?"
"To your west is the khanate of Kipchak, the Golden Horde, whose domain is
greater than yours. You can make it yours, if you act expediently, thus
reunifying the territory of your forebears."
"I am not so great a fool as to tackle a superior army. The territory would be
unified at my expense, and my head would top a pyramid of heads of my family
and supporters." He smiled grimly. "I have had some experience against
superior armies, as you know."
"The key term is expediency," Ned clarified. "There is a time to wait, and a
time to act. I believe that you have an opportunity now that will be lost if
you delay. The Golden Horde is struggling to quell the revolt of its
Russian vassals. Khan Mamai has his hands full at the moment."
"Mamai is a Mongol and a kinsman."
"So were the chiefs you vanquished in order to assume your present position."
"I see you do understand politics. But Mamai is more competent than those who
governed the White Horde."
"He can defeat the Russians. He can defeat the White Horde. He can not defeat
Timur. He can not defeat any combination of those forces. If you move against
him now, coordinating with the Russians, you can prevail. But you must be
careful. You must make certain that Timur approves your effort. You must never
cross Timur."
"Because he is my benefactor."
"Yes. And because he is matchless in the field."
"I see we understand each other. Even so, the resources of the Golden
Horde are greater than mine."
"Yes. You must not meet it directly in battle, yet. You must have patience,
and wear it down, while the Russians continue to distract it. You must have
military forces that are responsive in the manner of Timur's forces.
You must practice the art of strategic retreat, though it may look like

cowardice."
"I am no coward!"
"Neither was Genghis Khan. He was master of strategic retreat. When his
enemies thought they had prevailed, and lost their formation, he turned and
destroyed them. He did not care what they thought at the time; he made them
fools."
"I like the way you think. We will speak more of this at another hour."
Toqtamish snapped his fingers, and in a moment an extremely comely young woman
appeared, evidently a concubine.
"I should depart," Ned said.
The khan didn't answer. A hand touched Ned's elbow, making him jump. It was
Sahara.

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He followed her back to the bath, and beyond it to a separate chamber.
"This will be yours for the duration. Take your ease, but if this bell rings,
report immediately to the khan's chamber." She gave him a sharp glance.
"Immediately."
"I understand." He had seen how quickly others had responded. If he was in
dishabille, he would have to repair it as he could on the run.
"And for anything you require, I will serve. Do you prefer me with you, or in
my own chamber?"
"Where is your chamber?"
She indicated a smaller one opening onto his from the east. Mongol women were
always on the east, and the men on the west. "I will always be at your
service, in any way you desire."
He was getting on top of this situation. "You understand, Sahara, that though
I find you desirable, I do not wish to use you in any way other than ordinary.
I am married."
"I understand."
"Then retire to your own chamber. But if you feel there is something of which
I should be advised -- "
"Of course." She hesitated. "May I comment?"
"Yes."
"I think Wildflower is marrying well." Then she turned and entered her
chamber.
Ned found himself quite pleased by her flattery. It meant that she appreciated
his forbearance. She had to accommodate him in any way he wished, but
understood his stance. Perhaps she had a man of her own, for whom she
preferred to reserve her favors, if given a choice.
But in a moment she emerged. "It is time for the ablution."
"The what?"
"We Moslems pray to Allah five times a day."
Now he made the connection. "Of course."
She showed him the ritual posture, wherein each person of the true faith bowed
in the direction of Mecca, the Moslem holy city, getting down on knees and
hands, touching the head to the ground. He had seen it done, but it was
different actually doing it. But the physical forms were the simplest to
follow; it was the intellectual forms he considered to be the challenge.
Thereafter there were many conferences, and the khan seemed to be increasingly
influenced by what Ned had to say. He formulated careful plans for a sustained
campaign against the Golden Horde, but did not announce them.
Now was the time for quiet preparations, the training of good officers and
good troops, and the acquisition of accurate information on the disposition of
the enemy.
Betweentimes, Sahara acquainted him with the intellectual aspects of the
Moslem faith and practice. She took him to elders of the faith, who explained
the nuances and showed him the sacred texts. Ned found himself enjoying this.
He loved to learn, and there was much to learn here. Much of the Moslem faith

was similar to the Christian faith, for both derived from the foundation of
Judaism. But while the Christians believed Jesus Christ to be the Savior, the
Moslems believed him to be merely another prophet, while Mohammed was the true
prophet. Thus Ned did not have to renounce his faith, merely amend it.
Then came the day for Ned's Moslem wedding. It was to be a royal ceremony,
with full honors. Ned hesitated to demur, though he would have preferred
something less conspicuous. He just wanted to get back together with
Wildflower, for he felt most comfortable with her.
The bell sounded. Ned hastened, half-dressed, to attend the khan. The man was
lying comfortably amidst the fair nude torsos of several concubines, but
seemed to take no note of them. "Something I thought you should know," he said
without preamble. "Wildflower offered her life on your behalf."
"But she had no need to -- "

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"Ah, but she did. I had forbidden her to marry you. She disobeyed me, then
came to pay the penalty."
"But she indicated to us that you had acceded!"
The khan nodded. "She truly loves you, Ned. When I intimated that I
might have you killed, she intimated that she would die the hour after you
did. She is a Mongol; she was not bluffing. So I made the best of it, and gave
you the chance to prove yourself. You have done so. But you owe it to her.
Remember that."
"I shall." Indeed, Ned was shaken. He had had no idea that Wildflower had done
such a thing.
The khan waved him away, then slapped the bare bottom closest to his hand. The
woman stirred, more than ready to do his business.
Sahara was waiting to complete his dressing. "You look dismayed. He told you?"
"Yes. I never suspected."
"My instruction was to ascertain whether you were potent. I don't see how
there could have been any doubt."
She had misunderstood, but this was also relevant. "The khan thought I
might be impotent?" Had Wildflower told?
"I think he just wanted to be sure. Some men are not partial to women.
It would be extremely awkward to have such a man marry into the family."
"I thought he wanted to wean me away from my wife."
She shrugged. "That too, perhaps. But I think he was not disappointed when I
failed."
"Did you really try?"
"There was no need, once I had fulfilled my mission."
That explained why she had let him be, after he had turned her down. Her
instructions had been limited. He was relieved; he wasn't sure how long he
could have held out, had she persisted. "And you would have married me, as a
second wife, had I been inclined?"
"Yes, of course."
"Have you no life, no wishes of your own, apart from the will of the khan?"
"No."
"What, none?"
She smiled wistfully. "I hope that some day he marries me to a noble who will
value me as you value your wife, and who will be as true to me as you are to
her. To love and be loved, as it is with you. But Allah's will be done."
Suddenly he felt affection for her. She was a human being, rather than a mere
body. And perhaps she could be of real use to him. "Sahara, may I confide in
you?"
"You may do what you like with me, as always."
"No. Not by order of the khan. This must be by your own choice."

She looked alarmed. "Please do not say anything treasonable. I would have to
report it, and we both would suffer."
"No, nothing like that. I have a personal question you might help me with. But
I ask for your confidence, in the manner of a friend, if you feel any
friendship for me."
"I am a creature of the khan's. I -- " Then her expression changed, and her
eyes became bright. She had been sorely flattered. "I would not have minded
marrying you, though you be Christian. You are a fine and brilliant man. But I
am glad I could not sully your love for your wife. I will be your friend, to
the extent I am able. What do you wish of me?"
"The reason the khan tested my potency is because I was impotent with my wife.
I love her, but she is too much like my sister."
Her mouth formed an O of astonishment. "I never suspected! You were so virile.
Yet you resisted me."
"It was difficult. Extremely difficult. But what I want more than anything
else is to be potent with her. I know she is not my sister, and that she is
worthy. But what I could do with you, I can't with her. Can you help me?"

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She laughed. "It is an irony, that I must enable a man like you to be potent
with another woman. But there is lore. Sometimes with political marriages,
when the woman is unattractive, or when a husband is troubled and unable to do
what he wishes to -- there are love-herbs. I can give you one that would make
you potent with your own grandmother, for an hour. You must take it an hour
before the need."
"I think that is what I must have. You are sure of it?"
"Oh, yes. Had I put that in your food, you would have plunged me raw,
regardless of your aversion."
"Thank you for not doing that."
"Thank the khan, that he did not direct me to." She fished in a hidden pocket
and brought out a tiny silk pouch.
"You keep it with you?"
"I must always be ready to do the khan's bidding, whatever its nature.
But have no concern; had I used it on you, the test would not have been valid.
Your potency would not have been natural. In any event, there was no need.
Your potency was quite evident."
To be sure. "How do I take this?"
"In your wine, or water, or food; it does not matter. But make sure that she
will be with you, because you will be in pain if she is not."
"In pain?"
"Your urgency will become unendurable in the second hour after you take it, so
that you will grasp whatever offers, even if you must rape the scullery maid.
You would not like that, for she is twice your age, and ugly as a toad."
"I will make sure to be with my wife. You mentioned an hour of potency;
what happens after that?"
"The body becomes exhausted with the savagery of repeated indulgences, and
sinks into sexual lethargy. You will not be able to achieve potency for the
following twelve hours, and thereafter only with effort. So the love-herb is
not wise to take unless you really require it."
Ned thought of something else. "Does this love-herb work on women too?"
"Oh, yes! That is how it is usually used. There are no reluctant maidens in
the khan's palace, unless they have the wit to avoid the wrong foods or
drinks. Or the wit to flee to the nearest frigid pool the moment they feel the
first surge of lust." She smiled. "Sometimes several lovely girls dive
mysteriously into icy water at odd hours, occasionally in their dresses. No
one professes to know why."
Ned laughed. "Has that ever been the case with you, Sahara?"
"Yes. I can speak for the power of the love-herb."

"The bath you shared with me was hot."
She smiled. "I would have needed no herb with you, Ned. It would have been a
pleasure."
"And if I should take the herb, and then through some foul mischance not be
able to be with Wildflower for that hour?"
"Then come to me, Ned, quickly, and I will abate your ardor and keep your
secret, as a friend would."
He tucked the bag into his own pocket. "Thank you, Sahara; this is exactly
what I needed."
"She will surely be most pleased, for an hour, and then rather tired,"
she said wistfully.
He kissed her, a thing he had not done before. "I hope so." He was vastly
relieved.
Then he thought of something else. "The dowry! By Moslem custom, the man gives
it to the woman, or her family. But I am poor. I have nothing worthy of a
princess."
"No need to be concerned. A small dowry is in order, in a case like this,
because a princess needs no enhancement. I have a bauble of little worth, that
will do as the symbol." She fetched a tiny closed box. "Do not open it. Merely

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give it to her at the appropriate time. She will understand."
"But won't it insult the khan?"
She smiled. "He told me to give you this. Now the trinket is yours, and it
will be hers. Be guided by our judgment; the gift will not be taken amiss."
He accepted it. "Thank you again, Sahara."
"It is a pleasure to assist so good a man." She squeezed his hands around the
box, and then departed.
Ned learned that Moslems did not take marriage as seriously as
Christians did, or at least not in the same way. They adapted to whatever
cultural rituals existed in the local population. A man could divorce his wife
simply by declaring publicly "I divorce thee" three times, and of course a man
could have four or more wives. So he did not expect much, on the day the khan
had decreed for his marriage to Wildflower.
He was surprised. It was not a wedding at all; it was a dance. Was he being
mocked? Sahara had dressed him carefully in a formal robe, then disappeared.
The khan was seated on his throne, watching several appealing young women
gyrate. There was a considerable audience also watching the show.
"Ah, there you are," Toqtamish said, spying Ned. "Come stand by me. This will
surely be worthwhile."
Had the khan forgotten about the wedding? Ned went to stand by him, disturbed.
He hadn't seen Wildflower in a month, and missed her. He wanted to be with her
again.
The women cleared away, and another appeared. She was of statuesque
proportions, and she moved with singular grace. She did not remove her heavy
veil, but Ned recognized her: Sahara. The Mongols belonged to the Hanafite
school of Sunni Islam, which sect did not require veils for women. But veils
were often used for decorative purpose, or in dances, where they enhanced the
mystery and made the dancers more alluring.
"Ah yes -- you are to be married today," the khan said to Ned. "But who would
be a suitable bride for you?"
Ned did not dare answer the rhetorical question. Was Toqtamish playing one of
his jokes? Did he intend to make Ned marry Sahara?
"I think it should be she who dances best," the khan decided. "So let us
compare." He snapped his fingers.
Sahara beckoned offstage. A woman appeared. She danced well. But the khan
shook his head after a brief interval, and she was replaced by another.
That one in turn was replaced by a third, and so on in a chain.

"No, these are not good enough," Toqtamish said. He glanced at Sahara.
"Show these amateurs how it is done."
Now Sahara danced, and she was indeed superior. Her limbs and body were
matchless, and her skill was phenomenal. Ned knew that no one was going to
dance better than she did.
Then there was a commotion at the far end of the hall. A guard appeared.
"What is this interruption?" the khan demanded irritably.
"Lord, a royal procession approaches."
"But this is not my time for visitors," Toqtamish said. "There is no
appointment. We are engaged in private business here."
"Do you wish us to drive it off?"
The khan hesitated. "I need more information. Ned, go out and ascertain what's
going on."
Ned obediently went out with the guard. Beyond the pavilion there was indeed a
procession of wagons: several small ones, and one large one. The main one was
covered with rich blue cloth, with several curtained windows. They walked out
to intercept it.
The wagons halted. Lovely girls got out of the small ones, each wearing a
finely worked robe and a silk veil, along with a cap encrusted with jewels.
They walked to the large wagon, where they opened its door and helped an
elegant woman descend to the ground. She was completely shrouded in a

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voluminous cloak, with a hood surmounted by peacock feathers and set with
precious stones. She had such a long train that the comely young women
clustered around her to catch hold of loops on her robe and lift the skirts
clear of the ground. In this manner the lady proceeded toward the palace.
"But who is she?" Ned asked, daunted by this evident affluence.
A guard associated with the procession approached them. "Make way for the
khatun," he said brusquely.
Oh -- one of the khan's chief wives. Satisfied, Ned returned inside, where
Sahara was still dancing. "The khatun," he reported.
Toqtamish frowned. "None of my wives are attending this function. This has to
be a stranger."
Ned realized that he had made a mistake by not seeking positive
identification. Embarrassed, he began to go back out. But the khan stopped him
with a gesture. "We might as well discover what she is up to, since she is
here anyway."
Now the strange woman was escorted to the main chamber. All heads turned to
face her, evidently impressed by her royal attire.
Sahara paused in her dance, and the khan looked across the hall. "Who is this
who interrupts our amusement?"
The woman strode forward, surrounded by her attendants. She lifted her arms,
and the girls quickly removed her cloak. Beneath it she wore a dancer's
attire, with a tasseled halter and flowing skirt. She struck a pose.
"Oh, you came to dance," the khan said, surprised. "You heard of this contest
and decided to participate. Then do so."
She danced, and her body came alive in a marvelous way. The ranking wives of
the khan had become fat, and were no longer used in bed, but this one was
completely lithe. She dipped and whirled, so that her skirts flung out, and
her jewelry sparkled. She leaped, and landed, and flung off a tassel at
intervals. Her body was slender rather than buxom, but her balance and poise
were excellent, and the effect was quite nice. She was good, very good, and
Ned saw heads nodding. This stranger was dancing better than Sahara had. But
who was she? How could she have such a procession, if she was not really a
khatun?
She came at last to face the khan, and finished with a whirling flourish,
bowing down before him, her bosom heaving.
"You danced very well," the khan said. "But we have important business

here. You must not be anonymous. Who are you?"
The figure removed her hood to reveal her head. Her face was veiled, but a
bright golden crown set with gems sparkled above it. There was a murmur of awe
in the hall. This was a princess!
"So you are of royal blood," the khan said. "Show us your face."
Slowly she removed her veil. It was Wildflower! Ned was astonished. He had
never seen her like this. She was exquisite, and truly a princess.
Something changed in him then. It was as if the world changed colors, and what
had been familiar became newly unfamiliar. He had known she was a
Mongol princess, but still thought of her as his little sister. Now he knew
she was the same girl Lin had befriended, but he thought of her as a princess.
He had seen her in her royal Mongol splendor.
"So you are my cousin, the Princess Wildflower," Toqtamish said. "And you have
won the dance. Now you must marry my valet."
Wildflower nodded, smiling.
"Then let it be done." He looked around. "Who will bear witness to the
validity of the contract?"
Sahara spoke. "I will, Lord. I know this man to be competent and honorable."
"Who else?"
Idiku Berlas appeared. "I will, Lord."
"And where is a group of righteous people to establish the validity of the
ceremony?"

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A man stood in the audience, one of the ranking officers. "We are here, Lord,"
he said.
"Where is the dowry?"
There was a pause. Then Sahara's eyes flicked toward Ned. Oh -- he had
forgotten.
"I have it here, Lord," Ned said, producing the tiny box he had been given.
"It is a thing of no great worth, as my family is not wealthy."
"It will do," Wildflower said, accepting it with a smile. She opened the box
to show a single bright faceted diamond.
Ned was amazed. This was the "mere bauble" he had been carrying? It was of
enormous value. The khan had played another little joke.
"Such a small dowry suggests that the groom is extremely desirable in his own
right," the khan remarked with a straight face. He glanced at Ned as if in
doubt. "Can this be the case?"
"It is the case, Lord," Idiku said gravely. "He is a loyal, gentle, and
intelligent man. In any event, the bride needs little, as she is lovely, she
is royal, and she carries the favor of all the Mongols." He glanced
significantly at the audience, and it responded with a low chorus of
agreement.
Ned was coming to appreciate how carefully this play had been crafted.
This was public recognition of the status of the bride, and of the marriage.
Every one of the khan's questions was rhetorical, with a rehearsed response.
It was no conventional wedding ceremony, but it had considerable authority.
The khan had had his bit of fun with Ned, leaving him in doubt about the
nature of the marriage, but now it was serious.
"Is your father present?" the khan inquired of Wildflower.
"My father is dead, Lord."
Toqtamish stood. "Then I, as your nearest male relative, will do the honor."
He took her hand. "Praise be to Allah and blessings be upon His prophet!" He
turned to Ned. "I give you my cousin Wildflower in marriage."
Now he could speak the line he knew, which was religiously ambiguous.
"Praise be to God, and blessings be upon the Messenger of God. I accept her in
marriage."
Then they kissed. He had kissed her before, but this time there was

magic in it. He had thought of this second ceremony as a formality, but knew
that it had made his marriage to her real.
The wedding was done.
"Now the important part," Toqtamish said. "The feast."
And it was some feast. The food was brought in on tables of gold and silver,
each table carried by four men. There was boiled horsemeat and mutton.
There were drinks and pastries. The carver came wearing silken robes overlaid
by a silk apron, with a number of knives in their sheathes. He cut the meat
into small pieces, together with the bones, and served it on small silver
platters in which there was salt dissolved in water.
Ned fed Wildflower tidbits, and she fed him tidbits, and they both drank too
much qumys, which was fermented mare's milk, and honeyed mead. Alcoholic
beverages were forbidden by most sects of the Moslem religion, but fermented
liquor was held to be lawful by the Hanafites. There must have been something
strong in the drink, because both of them got too dizzy to walk straight.
At last it was done, and they were allowed to leave. Wildflower donned her
veil and cloak, becoming the anonymous woman again. Several members of the
group saluted them in parting. Ned had no idea where they were going, but she
did.
They came into the nuptial chamber. It was sumptuous, but he hardly noticed.
All he could see was Wildflower, the vision of loveliness.
"I missed you," he said, taking her in his arms. "I hated being separated from
you."
"Yes," she breathed.

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He lifted aside her veil and kissed her. "I think I did not know how I
loved you, until I was separated from you."
"Yes."
They were beside the huge bed. He clasped her and fell upon it. She fell on
top of him, her gown flaring out, her legs straddling him. "I do love you,
Wildflower! I know it now."
"Yes."
"And I desire you most ardently. If you -- may I -- ?"
"Yes!"
Then he was driving through her clothing, searching for the flesh beneath. She
used her hands to make way for him. They rolled over, and he drove on into her
explosively, heedless of anything but the need.
"Yes, yes," she said, clinging close, squeezing him with internal muscles.
The bliss of it transported him. "Oh, Wildflower, oh Wildflower," he gasped,
buried within her.
"Yes." She held him close, as if unable to get enough of him.
Only as he subsided did he realize the full implication of what had happened.
"I was potent!"
She laughed. "I hoped you wouldn't notice, until too late."
"It is definitely too late," he said, half ruefully. "I have creased and
soiled your wedding gown." Actually it was her dancing costume, but that
didn't matter.
"Then take it off me and do it again more cleanly."
"I think I shall."
They disentangled and got their clothing off. He realized that she still wore
her little crown. Naked, they looked at each other. Ned's member had lowered,
but now it rose again. "I asked Sahara for a potion to make me potent," he
said.
"You what?" she demanded with a sudden regal flash of anger.
"But I forgot to take it."
She considered that. Then she burst out laughing, her whole body shaking. "You
didn't need it!"

"I thought I would, and I wanted to please you. But the moment I saw you,
there was nothing in my world but you. I love you, Wildflower."
"You must, because you converted to the Moslem faith for me."
"Yes."
Then she seemed to think of something. "I was going to ask you to, but I
wasn't sure you would. My cousin said he would persuade you."
"He did."
She turned sober. "How did he persuade you?"
"That doesn't matter. I am glad to be with you in this."
"I made him promise not to hurt you or threaten you."
"He didn't."
But she was suspicious. "How did he persuade you?" she asked again.
Ned saw that she was determined to have the truth. "He said he would execute
you for betraying your faith."
"He wouldn't do that!"
"Oh, Wildflower, I couldn't take the chance. He told me how you protected me
by threatening to die the hour after I did. Even though I had been no kind of
a husband to you. I couldn't let you die!"
"You were all the husband I wanted."
"How could I be the beneficiary of such love, and not return it?"
She flung herself upon him, bearing him back on the bed. He felt her breasts
and thighs against him, and this time they were mounds and columns of ecstasy.
"I love you, Ned! I always loved you! But you saw me as a little sister."
"You are not my sister!" he said with mock seriousness as he cupped her tight,
soft bottom with his hands. "You never were. I know that now." He tickled her
buttocks, making her squiggle. Then they dissolved into further laughter.

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Somewhere in the middle of it, they coupled again. "So strong a passion," she
said. "Are you sure you didn't take that potion?"
"Absolutely. Do you want me to?"
"No."
"Do you want to take it yourself?" he asked mischievously.
"No! I want only you, with me like this, forever."
"You can have me like this, forever."
Her own face turned mischievous. "Was it like this with Wona?"
"No. It's much better with you."
"Really, Ned?" Suddenly she was the wondering child again, wanting
reassurance.
"Really. With her it was guilty and forced. With you it's fulfillment.
My only guilt with you is waiting so long to take what you offered. I really
was a fool, and I thank you for bearing with me so long. You truly are all
that I ever needed. Ever really wanted. I know it now."
She sighed, loving the news. They fell somewhat apart, but she snuggled up
against him, within kissing range. "What changed?"
Ned tried to analyze it. "I think it was a combination of things. The
separation -- I saw myself as such a fool for not -- I mean, you are a lovely
girl, Wildflower -- "
"Thank you." She kissed him. "Go on."
"Then there was Sahara. She tried to seduce me -- "
She stiffened. "What?"
"But didn't succeed." She relaxed. "But she did get me, you know, excited."
"I know." She stroked him where he was excitable.
"And I thought, how can I be so -- so ready to do this with her, and not with
you? It didn't make any sense."
"Yes."

"And the khan told me how you risked your life for me. That frightened me. If
you had died -- oh, Wildflower!" The horror of it burgeoned anew.
"I love you," she explained. "I did what I had to do."
"And the khan admired that." He paused. "Did you tell him about -- ?"
"Oh, Ned, I didn't want to! But I had to. He asked for my deepest secret, and
I had to give it to him. It's part of our protocol. But he shouldn't have told
anyone else."
"I don't think he did. But that's why he sent Sahara. To see if I was potent.
She reported that I was. And that I was loyal to you. And I knew that
I had to be with you again. Then when I saw you -- you were nothing like my
sisters. You were so regal, so beautiful, so wonderful! The way you danced --
I never knew you could do that!"
"I practiced. Sahara helped me."
"It was as if I had never seen you before, and yet I had. In that moment
I really desired you."
She kissed him again. "As I desired you."
"Yes. You truly are a princess."
"I truly am."
"And I truly love you."
"And now we are truly married."
"Yes."
"And you won't need Sahara in your bedroom any more."
"I never needed her there. Now stop being jealous and kiss me some more."
"I'll do better than that." And she did.
There were many discussions, and Toqtamish heeded them, and soon developed a
force to be reckoned with. Timur supplied advice and help, but now the khan
was becoming increasingly independent. Good commanders were being promoted,
and good men recruited and trained. The khan called in levies to raise a
considerable army.
It was not long before his leadership was tested. Malik had been defeated and

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driven out, but he was not dead. The Mongol prince of Serai had refused to
ally with Malik against Toqtamish, so Malik had killed him and claimed his
lands. Now, using Serai as a base, Malik raised an army to attack
Toqtamish. By his side was his companion Balinjak, whose prowess and honor
were famous, lending strength where Malik alone would have been weak.
But Malik faced a far more disciplined and powerful force than he had reckoned
with. In just a few months the White Horde had become not only strong but
savvy. Toqtamish had a number of advisers, and he consulted them all --
and chose the course that most resembled Ned's private advice. He met Malik in
the spring of 1378 and destroyed his army. Malik was killed, and Balinjak was
captured and brought before the conqueror's throne.
"How should I deal with such a hero?" Toqtamish asked Ned before the meeting.
"Spare him, if he will make his oath of fealty to you," Ned said. "You could
have no better defender by your side, and he can really help rouse the troops
and compel the loyalty of those who once served Malik."
Toqtamish nodded, then led the way to the audience chamber. Ned followed,
carrying the khan's cloak. By this time Ned's true place was widely known, but
because he was newly converted from the Christian faith it remained
unofficial. He was satisfied, because the lowliest position, with the khan's
favor, was more exalted than the highest with the khan's disfavor. He had
married the khan's cousin, which was a root of favor, but now he had that
favor on his own merit.
Balinjak was a fine figure of a man, and he walked with his head upright
despite his bonds. He seemed hardly daunted by his circumstance. He ignored

the people in the court, and met the khan's gaze without flinching.
"What do you expect of me?" Toqtamish asked the prisoner.
"A swift death." He did not grant the khan a title.
Toqtamish made a show of considering. "I am told you are a man of honor."
Ned remembered a similar remark, when the khan had first interviewed him. The
subject did not come up unless Toqtamish was already prepared to deal.
"I am, and I serve my master loyally, or his heir."
"I am Malik's heir."
"You are not his heir. You are his conqueror, because of the support of
Tamerlane."
There was an angry murmur in the court. "We do not call Timur by such a name,"
Toqtamish said.
"I do."
The man was in effect daring the khan to kill him outright. Toqtamish glanced
at Ned, then back to Balinjak. "Will you make your oath of fealty to me?"
"No."
Toqtamish shook his head. "You are a good man. I would like to have you in my
service. But if you will not serve me, I will still spare your life and set
you free, if you will swear never to conspire against me."
Balinjak looked surprised. "You would spare me?"
"Men of honor are rare," Toqtamish said, glancing again at Ned.
Balinjak shook his head. "I have spent the best years of my life in the
service of Malik. I cannot bear to see another on his throne. May his eyes be
torn out, who wishes to see you on Malik's seat." Then, surprisingly, he
dropped to his knees and bowed his head. "Lord Toqtamish, if you would be
gracious to me, cut off my head and put it under that of Malik, and let his
corpse recline on mine, so that his delicate body may not be begrimed with
dust."
Toqtamish glanced a third time at Ned. Ned shrugged. The prisoner was
honorable, but would not yield. He had used an honorific title only when
pleading for a special death.
"So let it be," the khan said with regret. The gallant prisoner was escorted
away, to be honorably executed.
Ned regretted it too. He would have liked to come to know Balinjak, who was a

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much better man than the master he had served. But if he would not give his
oath, he was too dangerous to spare. Ned realized that he himself could
readily have suffered a similar fate, had he made a similar demand. As a
result, he was one of the few men the khan truly trusted. As Malik had surely
trusted Balinjak, with good reason.
Later, with Wildflower, Ned confided his deep regret at the outcome of that
encounter. "That's the trouble with honorable men," Wildflower said. "You
won't bend at all." Then she kissed him passionately. "It is one of the
thousand reasons I love you."
"You have reasons?" he inquired with mock surprise.
She struck him with three more kisses.
Toqtamish's second campaign of that year was much grander in scale and
purpose. He moved against the Golden Horde. Timur's emissaries were surprised;
they had expected Toqtamish to be a relatively unambitious ruler, once he had
secured his kingdom. Instead he was acting much the way Timur himself would
have. They did not object, though they evidently feared that the khan would
misplay his hand and soon come to grief, as he had so often before.
But it was Ned's job to see that Toqtamish did not do that. There was nothing
haphazard about this campaign. Toqtamish did not seek open battle with

the unified forces of the Golden Horde, but rather campaigned against the
weaker local khans and princes who had aspirations for the top position. The
strongest of these was Mamai, the leading claimant for the throne of the Blue
Horde, the major faction. Mamai was too strong to meet openly, and Toqtamish
had to suffer a number of taunts about his supposed cowardice, but he stayed
with Ned's program and avoided a definitive battle. There were times when Ned
feared the khan would listen to his more violent advisers and seek one
glorious but ultimately disastrous battle, but as long as Ned's way won,
Toqtamish remained with it.
Thus it went for two years. Ned spent a lot of time in the field, surveying
situations, because the key to victory was in timely, accurate information. He
also spent much time with the khan, and was often home in
Sabran with Wildflower. She did not like the frequent separations, but she
remained with the family, and was especially close to Lin. The fortunes of the
family prospered in this period, by no coincidence. Sam had good work building
siege engines, and Jes and Ittai had a good ship and trade route on the
Caspian Sea.
Toqtamish's chance came late in 1380. Mamai was in firm possession of the
western tribes, including the Kipchaks, but now he faced a united uprising of
the Russian princes to the north. The Russians were commanded by Dmitri, Grand
Prince of Moscow. They had never been very orderly vassals, and constantly
desired independence. Mamai found it necessary to petition for
Lithuania's aid against the rebels. But Dmitri, acting to prevent that,
marched out quickly to force a confrontation with Mamai in the region of
Kulikuvo. This was hilly country south of Moscow, by the headwaters of the
Don, the river that flowed south into the Sea of Azov and thus connected to
the Black Sea.
But Toqtamish did not strike. He waited, letting the Russians make their move.
He had spies out to watch the action and keep him current on it. As Ned had
advised him, it was best to let the two other sides bleed each other dry
without distraction. Then the pieces would be easier to pick up.
The Russians, as it turned out, were not stupid about war. Their men had spent
a century serving as conscripts in Mongol armies, and they had learned how to
fight the Mongol way. They anchored their lines in positions that could not be
flanked, extending from the bank of the river to a steep forested slope.
The Mongols were stuck with a battle site chosen by their adversaries.
"Idiocy!" Ned remarked, smiling. "Genghis Khan would never have tolerated
that." But of course this was not the day of Genghis, or of his genius
generals.

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The Mongols had little choice but to try to pierce the Russian front.
After fierce fighting and heavy losses, they finally buckled one wing of the
Russian lines. But Dmitri, with cunning worthy of a Mongol, had a cavalry
troop hidden in ambush in the forest. The Russian cavalry caught the charging
Mongols in the flank, decimating their ranks. He had used their own tactics
against them, employing a ruse of weakness to lure them into a trap. Mamai's
army was routed, and he had to retreat to the lands between the Don and the
Volga to gather a new army and exact his vengeance.
Ned nodded. He had predicted something like that. A straightforward attack at
a site chosen by the enemy was stupid. Once again he had shown
Toqtamish the wisdom of caution.
The Russians, victorious but exhausted, lacked the strength or supplies to
press their victory, and returned home. They had accomplished their purpose,
defending their independence.
"Now!" Ned said.
Toqtamish made his move. He pounced on Mamai while the khan's forces were
weakened, at Kalka, near the Sea of Azov. It was hardly a fair situation,

and the remnant of the Golden Horde was routed. Mamai fled to the Genoese
colony nearby, but the Genoese, who had suffered from his arrogance, slew him.
Toqtamish became khan of the Golden Horde, which now encompassed all the
territory of its ancient days.
"But you can't afford to leave the rebellious Russians on your flank,"
Ned warned him. "Should they ally with the Lithuanians, they could become too
strong to handle."
"But we lack the strength to properly subdue them now," the khan protested.
"True. So you must maintain relations with them. But don't relax. They are
potentially more dangerous to you than Mamai was."
Toqtamish nodded. But for once it seemed that Ned's caution was wrong, for the
Russians immediately sent sword-bearers with their homage. They recognized the
fact that their princes held their positions only at the khan's pleasure. The
advisers who had opposed Ned's strategies claimed that he had led the khan
into foolish concern about an enemy too weak to cause him any mischief.
However, when Toqtamish summoned the Russian princes themselves to come in
person to his court, and to pay tribute, the Russians sent excuses.
"You were right, as always," Toqtamish told Ned. "They proffer only lip
service, not substance. They think that because they beat Mamai, they can beat
me. We shall have to teach them a lesson."
But it was necessary to recover and prepare. So for a year the khan left the
Russians alone, while he mustered and prepared his army. Then in the summer of
1392 he moved against them. His army was massive and well trained;
the only thing it lacked was siege equipment, because that would slow down
progress. Ned rode with the khan, and this time his sister Jes came too,
garbed as a man, to protect Ned in the field. She loved her husband, just as
Ned loved his wife, but her hunger for travel and action remained. The khan
knew her nature, but pretended not to; he enjoyed this incidental secret.
The Mongols seized Russian boats and used them to ferry troops across the
Volga River. They enlisted Russian guides to lead them along the best route to
Moscow. The Mongol army was overwhelming, and some Russians lost hope. They
sought to curry Toqtamish's favor with gifts. Prince Dmitri's godfather in
Novgorod sent his two sons with presents. And spies reported that
Prince Dmitri himself abandoned Moscow and went northeast to Kostroma to raise
a larger defensive force.
Toqtamish continued his march on Moscow. Flames and smoke from burning
villages and fields marked his advance, visible by day and night. He was
making his point. Ned did not enjoy this aspect of campaigning, but Jes did.
"The Russians showed their contempt of us," she said. "Now they are learning
respect. In the future they will consider more carefully before holding back
on tribute. This is what war is all about."

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"I prefer peace."
"Then you will have to find some other khan to advise, because Toqtamish is
out to conquer the world."
"All except Timur's domain."
She glanced sidelong at him. "Oh?" But she did not comment further.
The news of the scouts continued. Many people were fleeing Moscow, but those
who remained were organizing a defense. Prince Dmitri sent a young
Lithuanian named Ostei to take charge, and his competence instilled confidence
in the people. The Lithuanians were formidable because they understood the
significance of the campaign. Peasants from the countryside poured into the
city for shelter. The walls were manned by brave but largely untrained
militia. Even monks were bearing arms in the defense of their city. But, the
spies said, there was a feeling of doom.
"Well justified," Jes remarked with satisfaction.

"I gather you are not much interested in staying home and having babies," Ned
said.
"I will get to that in due course." But she looked thoughtful.
On August 23, 1382, the Mongols arrived at Moscow. Toqtamish sent envoys who
spoke Russian to ask about Grand Prince Dmitri. They were told that he was no
longer in the city, and it seemed to be true, as it confirmed the news of the
spies. Ostei, the Lithuanian, was now in charge, and no, he would not yield
the city. So the envoys returned to report to the khan, and the siege began.
For three days the Mongols punished the defenders of the wall with deadly
storms of arrows. Jes was among them, firing at any head she saw on the wall.
Soon no heads showed; the Russians were afraid to fire back.
But when the Mongols attacked the walls directly, they were repulsed by heavy
stones and boiling water. Ostei did know what he was doing, and his amateurs
were learning professionalism in a hurry. This was likely to take some time --
and Ned had already advised the khan not to get embroiled in a winter
campaign. They needed to take Moscow without undue delay, or the war would
become considerably more difficult.
Toqtamish was thoughtful. "Do you know of any way to cut this campaign short
without sacrificing our objectives?"
"Bring the siege equipment."
"It will take a month to get here."
Ned refrained from reminding the khan that he had urged that the siege engines
follow closely after the main army. Other advisers had belittled the notion
that the cowardly Russians would actually stand and fight in the face of the
overwhelming Mongol army. But they had not reckoned on the unexpected:
the expertise of the Lithuanian commander. Ned had known to expect the
unexpected.
"It is Dmitri you need to nullify," Ned said. "Maybe you can make peace with
the city, since he isn't here, and move on to capture him before he raises a
big army. Once you have him, Moscow won't matter."
Toqtamish nodded. "I will consider it." That meant that he would consult with
his formal advisers, and see whether there was a consensus.
That day a new adviser arrived, summoned from a far province. This was
Ormond, who had a reputation for getting the job done by whatever means he
deemed expedient. Ned did not like the man's reputation, nor the man himself,
when he met him; sneakiness seemed to surround him like a noxious cloud. Rumor
said that his conniving had brought shame to the man he had most recently
served, so that he had had to depart in haste lest he be quietly executed.
Thus he had been available for a new position.
The formal introduction was in the khan's tent, which could have held
500 people. It was covered in white felt and was lined inside with silks,
cloths, and pearls. This, for the khan, was roughing it in the field.
The visitor touched the ground with his right knee. "I hastened at your beck,
Great Khan," Ormond said, bowing his head low before Toqtamish. "I

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apologize that it was necessary to bring my good Moslem Turkish wife with me,
lest the infidels mistreat her."
"We regret in turn that we lack proper facilities for a woman of quality,"
Toqtamish responded graciously. "But when we take the city, she shall have
fitting accommodations. Present her to me now." Ormond bowed low again, then
signaled to the side. A cloaked and veiled woman stepped forth.
Despite her complete shrouding, Ned could tell by her proportions and the way
she moved that she was beautiful. No wonder Ormond had not cared to leave her
behind.
The woman bowed as low as her husband had, unspeaking. Her poise and grace
spoke for her. Ned's curiosity was aroused. How had this loutish man won such
a creature?

"Show your face," Toqtamish. said, similarly intrigued.
She lifted her head, and then her veil, allowing the beauty of her countenance
to shine forth. And Ned froze. It was Wona! His brother's former faithless
wife. Who had seduced him, and tortured him with her power over him, until Jes
had taken her away.
"This court is blessed by your presence," Toqtamish told her. "You and your
husband must join us at our repast today."
Wona nodded, properly grateful for this significant sign of favor by the khan.
The formalities concluded, but Ned was hardly aware of them. He had never
expected to see Wona again. Now she was here, instantly complicating his
existence. He hoped she had not seen him or recognized him, where he stood as
one of several of the khan's attendants. As soon as he could, he left the
tent, so as to rejoin his sister.
"Wona!" Jes exclaimed. "What is she doing here?"
"She is the wife of the new adviser, Ormond."
"Ormond! He's the one Ittai sent her to. But he lives far away. I was sure he
would never cross our paths again."
"He fell out of favor where he was, and the khan summoned him to be an
adviser. He just arrived."
"This is mischief."
"This is mischief," he agreed glumly.
"Did she see you?"
"I don't think so. But she will eat with the khan today, so she is bound to
see me then."
"Toqtamish shouldn't miss you for one meal. Find business elsewhere."
That made sense, because the last thing he wanted to do was have any further
interaction with Wona. Just the single sight of her had stirred a complex both
of guilt, shame, and desire in him. She was still so infernally lovely! So he
busied himself with his equipment, and tried with notable un-
success to blank her out of his thoughts.
But that afternoon as he went to the latrine trench to relieve himself, he
heard a dulcet voice. "Ned."
It was Wona. He didn't turn. What was she doing at a place like this?
The stink was terrible.
"Ned, I must speak with you," she said. Her voice was low and urgent.
"We must not be seen together. If my husband knew -- "
"Then don't leave his side," he said gruffly. "I want no part of you."
"How do you know? You once liked that part well enough."
He turned, but didn't see her; she was hidden behind a tree. "I am married
now. You mean nothing to me."
"Congratulations. I'm sure she is a nice girl." Her tone suggested that
"nice" equated to "uninteresting." "But I have information you will want."
"I want nothing of yours. Share it with your husband."
"It is from my husband, who doesn't know I know. I overheard -- but I
can't tell you here. Meet me tomorrow morning at the red farmstead down the
trail three leagues east of here."

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"I'll not meet you anywhere! I don't want to be near you." But that was true
on only one level. The very sound of her voice had given him a guilty
erection.
"Ned, be sensible! There is a massive, terrible treachery in the making.
You must tell the khan, for I cannot. My husband would -- Ned, you must hear
me out!"
"Treachery?" It was not difficult to believe that Ormond would be involved in
something dirty. For whom was the man's real loyalty?
"The red farmstead, tomorrow morning," she repeated. "Don't let anyone see you
go there."

"I'll not go -- " he started. But now another man was coming to the trench,
and he couldn't continue talking. So he walked away, not looking at the tree.
He found Jes and told her. "And she wants me to meet her tomorrow at a private
place."
"I think she just wants to seduce you again."
"Yes. She probably has no information."
Jes cocked her head thoughtfully. "Yet suppose she does? If there really
should be something, and you passed it by, and then Ormond leads the khan into
an ambush -- "
"You think I should see her?"
"She'd have you back in thrall in a moment."
"No she wouldn't." But his doubt showed.
"Ned, I know you love Wildflower. But you are a mouse before that snake.
Wona will consume you."
"So I can't see her," he said, half-relieved.
"You will have to see her, to be sure there is no betrayal she knows of
-- and I will have to go with you. I'll kill her if I have to."
"I don't think I could do that."
"I know you couldn't. But I can. Probably it won't have to come to that,
because she knows me, and will back off. I will protect you."
And she would, in two senses: physically and emotionally. "Thank you, Jes."
"I'll get horses. You go to the trench -- and on beyond it, when no one is
looking. I'll be there at dawn."
Ned nodded. He profoundly appreciated his sister's support. She understood him
perfectly, weaknesses and all, and would see that he handled this matter
properly.
In the morning he met Jes beyond the trench, and they rode out to the east. In
three hours they spied the red farmstead, nestled at the edge of the forest.
It looked deserted, but there was a horse grazing beside it.
"Just in case it's a trap," Jes said, drawing her knife and holding it against
the side of the horse away from the house. She could hurl that blade swiftly
and accurately.
He dismounted and walked to the door. It opened as he approached. Wona was
there, wearing a tight woolen dress that concealed nothing of her proportions.
"Come in quickly, Ned; don't let anyone see you."
"My sister brought me."
Wona glanced beyond him, frowning. "Then she must hide too. It is death for
all of us, if my husband learns."
"Tell me, and we'll be away from here," Ned suggested.
"No; it is too long in the telling. Let the horses graze; maybe it will be all
right."
Jes dismounted and led the horses to the pasture beside the house. She tied
their reins up on the saddles. They were well trained; they would not stray,
and would come when called. Ned waited until she joined him, before stepping
into the cabin.
It was empty, except for Wona. Jes had known that, or she would not have
entered. She had a warrior's senses about such things.
"You thought I would ambush you?" Wona inquired disdainfully. "I would never

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hurt you, Ned."
Jes snorted.
"Or you, Jes," Wona continued. "We have meant too much to each other.
I'm glad you took Ittai; he's a good man."
"What's this?" Ned asked.
Wona smiled. "You didn't know? Captain Ittai left me for her. But I
think he would not have, had I not shown Jes how to use her body. Had I not

been willing to go."
Ned looked at his sister. "What did she show you?"
"We exchanged information," Jes said tightly. "I showed her how to kill, and
she showed me how to appeal to a man." But she turned a hard glance to
Wona. "Just tell my brother what you have to tell him, and we'll go. We don't
want to see you again."
"Then we had better settle into some comfort," Wona said. "It will take some
time in the telling. I have some food. Take a stool."
"We didn't come here to eat," Ned said.
Wona shrugged. "Please yourself." She fetched bread and a jug of wine from a
bag in the corner, and set them on the wooden table. "I have something
special: caviar. It greatly improves the flavor of the bread." She lifted her
right leg so that her comely thigh showed, and revealed a sheath strapped
there. She drew a knife and cut off some bread.
Ned pretended not to have noticed that deep flash of thigh. But he was sure
Wona had angled her leg deliberately to give him the most compelling view.
Knowing her ways did not prevent him from reacting to them. Emotionally he
despised her, but physically he desired her.
"I don't eat on a mission," Jes said.
"But surely you will want to sample this." Wona proffered the bread.
Jes paused, then accepted it. She dug out some of the caviar and put it on the
bread. She took a bite.
"You see, it is good food," Wona said. "I am eating it too." She cut off
another slice of bread.
Jes nodded. "It is good food."
"You and I do not want to interfere with each other," Wona said to Jes.
"We have tended each other in illness. Give me one hour."
"What are you talking about?" Ned asked.
Jes paused, then answered. "Wona and I came to know each other, when we
traveled together. We are different creatures, but we do not see each other as
evil. If she led you into an ambush, I would kill her. But she means you no
harm, by her definition. She has asked me to allow her to deal with you
without interference."
"All I want is the news of that treachery."
"But there is a price to that news," Wona said.
"Why should he pay it?" Jes asked, as if negotiating.
"Do you think I could not have held Ittai, had I chosen to? When I
learned that you were the other woman, I let him go because I would not hurt
you."
"You let him go!" Jes repeated, astonished. "No -- he left you!"
"There were sides of me I did not need to show him or his housemaid. I
could have fascinated him, blinding him to all else. You know that. I know my
business, as you know yours." Wona paused, letting that statement sink in. "He
was worth more to you than to me. Because of what we meant to each other, I
gave him to you."
Jes's surprise slowly turned to acceptance. "You could have held him,"
she agreed at last.
"What would be the price of him?"
Jes nodded reluctantly. "One hour."
"This is not making any sense at all!" Ned protested.
Jes angled her head. "Is someone coming?"

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"No one followed me," Wona said. "And I'm sure you wouldn't let anyone follow
you. So anyone who passes here must be coincidental."
"All the same, I'll check." Jes started for the door, carrying her bread.
"Don't leave me!" Ned cried.
Jes sighed. "Ned, I think this is one battle you must after all fight

yourself. She's not going to say anything until she has settled with you, one
way or the other. My time is better spent making sure there is no mischief
abroad." She went on outside.
"See -- she trusts me alone with you," Wona said as she used the knife to
spread caviar on the slice of bread.
"She knows I'll call her if there is trouble." Ned, feeling awkward, sat on a
stool.
"What have you to fear from me? She knows that you are the very last person I
would hurt. I would much rather make love to you." She handed him the slice of
bread. Bemused, Ned accepted it. "What is this treachery?" She cut off another
slice and smeared caviar over it. "Have you lost your feeling for me? I have
not lost mine for you. You're such a brilliant man."
And such a fool about women, particularly this one. "You held me like a
captive bird. What is this treachery?"
Wona took the stool opposite him, drawing the skirt of her dress up above her
knees so that it would not stretch out of shape. The knife-sheath got in her
way, so she slid the skirt up farther and removed it. She seemed to be wearing
nothing underneath.
She picked up her bread and bit delicately. "Do try this, Ned. Caviar is a
rare Russian delicacy, said to enhance potency." She let her legs spread.
Ned looked away from her clearly revealed thighs, ashamed of the sexual
urgency they generated in him. He chomped his bread almost savagely. The taste
of it was surprisingly good. "What is this treachery?"
"Do you know what I want of you, Ned?"
"If you are loyal to the khan, you will give me the information."
"The khan is a Mongol. I am a Turk, as are you. My loyalty is to myself and my
friends. I do not simply give away my wares; I make the best deal I
can."
"I don't care for your deal." But his sincerity was being undercut by the
sight of her body. He didn't want to desire her, but his body took no more
note of his mind than it had when he had been impotent with Wildflower.
Wona stood, found cups, and poured some wine. She offered it to him.
"Would you like me to sip from it first?"
She was teasing him with the notion that he might suspect her of poisoning
him. He grasped it almost roughly and drank. It was fine and strong;
he would have to be careful lest it cloud his judgment. Wona was doing
everything to distract him, and succeeding admirably. So was that her only
purpose? To try to seduce him again?
"Oh, there really is a conspiracy," she said, as if fathoming his thoughts.
"You will need to tell the khan. Would you like more bread?"
"No." It seemed that she was determined to make him wait for her information.
"More wine, then?"
"No."
"You are a hard man to please." She took his empty cup and set it on the
table. But instead of returning to her stool, she began to dance. Her motions
were languorously slow, and her body became like liquid. Her breasts quivered
under the knit dress, and her hips flowed out and in as if possessed of their
own agendas. He had not seen a dance like that since Sahara performed at his
wedding. She let down her hair so that it joined the sway, and smiled at him.
Ned swallowed. He was married, and he loved his wife, but he desired
Wona with an intensity he would not have believed. He wanted to protest, or at
least look away, but did neither.
She circled close to him, and he smelled the appealing musk of her body.

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She turned and danced with her back to him, so that he could see the flexing
of her buttocks under the tight knit. She bent forward, projecting her bottom,
and he remembered how she had received his explosive entry, so long ago. He

wanted to leap up and take hold and plunge in, and knew she would not only let
him, but make it as good for him as was humanly possible. Wona had faults, but
was matchless at that particular type of performance.
One hour: that was how long Jes was giving them. If he could hold out for that
time, the sexual siege would be over. He tried to close his eyes, and could
not; he tried to focus his mind on Wildflower, and could not. He had
carelessly walked into a battle of her choosing, and was at a severe
disadvantage. He was caught in the storm of Wona's desire, and could only try
to ride it out.
Wona turned again, and now her living breasts almost brushed his face.
Then she abruptly sat on his lap, flinging her arms around him and pulling his
face into her bosom. His arms involuntarily went around her midriff. "I still
want your child, Ned," she said.
"I don't want to give it to you," he said into her warm woolen left breast.
Her body was so soft and light!
"No one need know. Just give it to me, and go your way, and I will go mine."
She tensed her buttocks rhythmically, sending a hidden message to the most
interested part of him.
"No." But he heard the weakness in it. He knew he should throw her off and
depart, but he couldn't. He couldn't even let go of her. Her body was so
exquisitely formed, and so close and pliable!
"We can do it right here, right now," she said. "Open your trousers, and
I will hitch up my dress."
"No." Yet he knew he was on the verge of doing it.
"Here, this is better." She got up, hoisted up her skirt, spread her legs, and
sat on him again, her thighs clasping his waist. Even through the clothing, he
felt the compelling magic of their touch. "I can bring you such joy, Ned! You
know I can. Just let me do it."
And he knew she would do it, if he let her, as she had before. She had already
excited him almost beyond endurance, and she would set him inside her, and he
would give her all that was in him. Still he did not move.
"Or I can give you something to kiss, first." Wona reached around herself and
pulled further on her dress. It slid upward around the curves of her body,
shaping itself to them as it moved, until her fine breasts popped out beneath
it. She wore nothing underneath, as he had known would be the case. "I want
you to be satisfied, Ned." She leaned into his face.
He turned his face aside, but it still rested between her breasts. She used
her hands to lift them up for his closer appreciation. "I know you want me,
Ned, as I want you."
He could not deny it. He was ready to give himself up for lost. He fought to
summon an image of Wildflower's face, ashamed of the betrayal in which he was
indulging. But his wife was far away.
"And I will give you my information, after," Wona said, bending her head to
kiss his ear.
Why was she still bargaining, when she had already won? Apparently she didn't
know of her victory. Then he realized that there were limits to what
Wona could do. He could not fight her, or throw her off, or even speak out
against what she was doing, but he could resist her. So he remained un-moving.
She took his silence for assent. "Now let me make the connection," she
murmured, reaching down to open his trousers.
He moved his arms. He caught her wrists and held them.
"Why, how nice, Ned; you are responding at last!" She moved her breasts
against his face. They were twin mounds of desire, perfectly formed.
Ned simply sat there, with the naked woman on his lap, and held her wrists. He
had found his only weapon of defense. Could it possibly be enough?

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How much of the hour remained? How much of it did he want to remain?
"But we can't proceed if you don't let me," she said after a moment. She

tried to move her hands, but he tightened his grip.
"You are hurting me, Ned," she said.
He knew he wasn't. He did not let go.
"Of course I can give you more." She bent her head and brought it down to kiss
him. He turned his face to the side, but she pursued it and managed to capture
his mouth with hers.
Then Ned felt his grip weakening. Her kiss transported him, making him
heedless of any consequence. But he forced strength into his hands, and
maintained his grip. Had she been a man, she could readily have broken it. But
physical strength was not her way.
She kissed him again, and this time he turned his face into hers and returned
it. But he maintained his hold on her wrists. She could inflame his desire,
but could not open his trousers, and therefore could not complete the act.
At last she sighed. "I fear you have beaten me, Ned."
He didn't answer. He knew he had merely nullified one ploy. She would have
others. In fact this was probably one: to make him relax in seeming victory,
and then be lost, in the manner of troops that lost their formation pursuing a
fleeing foe, and then got cut to pieces. Wona was just as devious and
dangerous in her domain as any Mongol army in its domain.
She gazed into his eyes. Then her own eyes turned wet. Her tears flowed,
silently but copiously. "Oh, Ned -- I love you so!"
Again, he felt his strength dissipating. The fluid of her eyes was melting his
resolve. He knew they were deliberate tears, but they still had their effect.
If she tried to free her hands now, she would succeed, for his fingers were
numb.
But she didn't know that. She was waiting for him to let her go. So he waited
for the next ploy.
It came with mercurial suddenness, like a summer storm. "Then the hell with
you!" she flared, her anger like a suddenly ignited thatch fire. "I don't need
you."
"Then tell me of the treachery, and let me go," Ned said.
Instead she kissed him again, savagely. But they remained in their impasse,
her hands imprisoned.
She lifted her head and gazed into his eyes. It was as if he could see through
her eyes into some other realm, a Moslem paradise, infinitely beckoning. "Do
it, Ned, I beg you, and I will tell you everything."
"No."
She sighed, and the sound stirred a wave of mixed feeling in him. "Then
I must tell you first, and then you will do it."
"No." He knew better than to be trapped into her seduction. Because the first
would not be the last.
"Ned, you are being unreasonable. You must meet me part way."
Even seeming reason was part of her repertoire! "All I came for was the
information. Give that to me and go."
She stared into his eyes. Moonlight and clouds danced in her depths. "I
have what you want. You have what I want. It seems fair to trade."
"I want to protect the interests of the khan. You want to have me in thrall to
you again. I don't think you have what I want, and I won't give you what you
want."
She shook her head. "You are wrong, Ned. You think you know, but you will have
a crushing disillusionment coming. This is something you really do need to
know."
She seemed sincere. It could be a ruse, but he feared it wasn't. "Tell me, and
let me judge."
"I will, but first you must agree that if my news is worthy, you will give me
my desire." She kissed him again. "Your baby. That means a number of

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sessions, most likely."
An extended affair. Which would bind him to her, and destroy his marriage. His
body was urgent to agree, but his mind was in control for the moment. "No."
"Even though you know it is no onerous chore I ask of you, while the news I
have will affect you profoundly?"
Again, he wavered. She seemed so sure! If she were bluffing, she wouldn't
offer to tell him her news first, letting him judge its merit. She was sure he
would complete the deal, once he heard her information, if he agreed on the
terms beforehand. So he could afford to make the deal only if he was sure she
was bluffing. And if she was bluffing, there was no point in making the deal.
"No."
Wona shook her head sadly. "Ned, you are going to regret this."
"I already regret coming here."
She laughed. Her upper body shook, especially her breasts, and it was all he
could do to prevent his face from kissing them. "I think you just need a
little more persuasion."
But it was an impasse. He would not let go of her wrists, and she would not
cease her efforts to persuade him. Slowly his resolve was weakening. It would
be so easy to yield! And maybe her information really was what he needed to
know.
"Yes, I think when you say no, you mean yes," she murmured, conscious of her
increasing power over him. "We have meant so much to each other in the past,
and will in the future. Kiss me, my precious. My body hungers for yours."
Somehow he hung on to her wrists, but his hands were feeling paralyzed.
At any point she would try to free her hands, and would succeed, and then
would complete the act despite his passive resistance. And she would have him.
This was a siege in which the besieged was running out of strength and hope.
It was only a matter of time.
There was a sound to the side. "Oh, no," Wona muttered. "I forgot about
Jes. The hour has passed."
Ned had forgotten too. It hadn't seemed like an hour. Strength returned to his
hands. Wona had not seduced him in time. The rescue troops were coming to the
aid of the besieged city.
Jes entered the room. "I watched carefully, but there is no threat from
outside." She looked at the pair of them. "I think my brother has defeated
you, Wona. If you couldn't seduce him in an hour in that position, you
couldn't do it in a year."
"Yes I could," Wona said. "Give me just a bit more time."
Jes drew her knife. "I think not. Don't make me use this on you, Wona."
Wona scrambled off Ned's lap. He let her wrists go as she did. "You caught
on," she said.
"I suspected."
"Caught on to what?" Ned asked. Despite this victory, his desire for
Wona was not abating.
"She put love-herb in the food."
Suddenly it came clear. "That's why my resistance was weakening! That herb --
it takes an hour."
"That's why," Jes agreed. "I ate her food to be sure it wasn't poisoned.
Then when I thought about it, I realized that there could be another way. I
came in, knowing what she was up to."
"You waited too long," Wona said. "Ned desired me anyway; now he will have to
have me. This goes beyond reason; it cannot be denied."
"No!" Ned said. "I know the remedy. Jes, take me to cold water."
Wona winced. Evidently she had hoped they wouldn't know about water.

"This way. I ate too; I need it too." Jes led the way out.
That intrigued him, passingly. Was the love-herb so powerful that it would

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cause a brother and sister to merge? He didn't care to find out.
"But I took it also!" Wona protested.
"Too bad," Jes said tersely. "There is no other man close by."
Behind the house there was a stone cattle drinking trough fed by a tiny
stream. Ned and Jes tore off their clothing and climbed into it. The water was
devastatingly chill: exactly what was required.
Then Wona was there, still naked. "Make room for me," she said.
Jes laughed. "I have half a mind to keep you out." But she took no action, and
in a moment all three of them were shivering in the trough.
"Well, I tried my best," Wona said. "It would have worked, had you not caught
on when you did. Just a few more minutes -- "
"So did you really have any information of treachery?" Ned asked.
"Oh, yes. And I will still make the trade, if you care to get warm with me
now." She inhaled, shivering.
"No." Her persistence bothered him, though the cold water was effectively
damping his ardor. Also, shivering cold flesh was not as appealing as soft
warm flesh, however well formed. He could not believe that she truly desired
him, other than as a confirmation of her power over men. Yet she had gone to
extraordinary effort to seduce him, and was still trying. Why was she
bothering?
"What is your interest in this?" Jes asked Wona, echoing his thought.
"Obviously you are not motivated by patriotism, and you could have seduced any
man you wished, with your body and the love-herb. Ned hardly seems worth your
while."
"But his child would be mine," Wona said. "So when I learned what I
learned, I decided to make good use of it."
"And you will let the treachery happen?" Ned demanded. "Just to spite me?"
"If I gave things away, I would never be able to bargain. So I give nothing,
without its price."
"To you, love and war are much the same," Jes said.
"I'm glad you understand."
Ned shook his head as he shivered. Something was missing, but he couldn't
figure out what. Why hadn't Wona chosen to seduce some other man in exchange
for her information, or traded it for gold? Any of the other advisers could
have borne the news to the khan. Why had she fixed on him, so soon after
seeing him? He did not believe that it was all for the desire to bear his
child; she had not shown much interest in her prior child. Yet she had fixed
on him, most determinedly. Where was the key?
"I can't stand this," Wona said. "I'm getting out."
"We'll take turns," Jes said. "One at a time."
Wona climbed out, then danced on the ground, recovering her warmth. Ned
watched her bouncing body, almost wishing he could feel the desire he should.
But the cold was too compelling.
When Wona was warm, she reluctantly got back in the water, because Jes would
not let Ned out otherwise. Ned got out and danced around, while Wona watched,
no doubt with similar thoughts. Then he returned, and Jes got out.
Ned noted that his sister had put on some feminine flesh, and was no longer as
lanky as he remembered her. Marriage had evidently been good for her -- or
maybe it had simply caused her to fight less and love more.
In due course the hour passed, and they were able to get out and stay out.
They carried their clothing to the house, drying off in the air. All of them
were shivering and somewhat blue of lips and skin. Ned found that the
information Sahara had given him was correct: his desire had waned, and he no
longer cared who had clothing. He had not indulged sexually, but evidently the

cold water had depleted his energies similarly, and he just wanted to rest.
"I had thought to have had my will of you, and be alone to recover, by this
time," Wona said as she dressed.
"Will you tell me your real motive for all this?"

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"Of course not. That deal must wait until we are able to consummate it."
She was one tough negotiator. Ned realized that he would have been no match
for her, without Jes to support him. As it was, it had been a close thing.
Jes looked around the cabin. "We should be getting back to the camp, but
I feel depleted. I would prefer to rest until my strength recovers."
"So would I," Ned agreed. "But this is Wona's house."
"How can that be, when she and her husband just arrived from far away?
It is merely a place they saw was empty when they passed by it."
"We are like combatants after the battle is over," Wona said. "Stay here and
rest; I don't mind."
Ned looked at Jes. She shrugged. Why not? Their battle had been fought and
ended. So they found separate spots on the floor and lay down to rest. Ned
woke as dusk was closing. He hadn't meant to sleep, but evidently had done so.
That love-herb had a wearing effect on the system.
"Too late to return," Jes said, seeing him stir. "We'll have to stay the
night."
"I have food," Wona said. "The herb is in the caviar; the bread and wine are
good."
They shared the bread and wine, and talked about old times, and slept again.
It was strange being together like this, but Ned's lethargy was slow to wear
off, so it was easier just to accept the situation. Wona seemed like a
different person as she inquired about her daughter Wilda, seeming truly to
care.
At dusk Ned performed his ablution toward Mecca, and Wona joined him.
Jes abstained, making no comment. She knew why Ned had converted; it was no
issue between them.
In the morning Ned's interest in sex was returning, and he knew that this was
true for Wona also. But he knew better than to dwell on that. They rounded up
their horses and rode back together. A league before they reached the camp,
they separated. "My husband would not understand," Wona explained.
Surely so!
"She professes to be a good Moslem now," Jes remarked after they separated.
"But she made her obeisance to Allah only when you did, and never mentioned
Him otherwise."
"That's right! She gives only lip service to Allah, when with Moslems. I
hadn't noticed."
"She gave you other things to notice."
"Yes." He wished he could feel good about his victory, but it had been more
luck than skill, even with Jes's support.
"Be alert for that treachery," Jes told him as she took the horses, leaving
him to make his way quietly into the camp afoot. "Wona obviously doesn't care
about the khan's welfare, but we do."
He nodded. "Thank you for saving me, again," he said.
"I did it for Wildflower," she said, looking down.
Wildflower! How eager he was to return to her embrace.
He made his way to the khan's tent. "Ned! We missed you," Toqtamish said. "We
feared something had happened."
"I was told of some terrible treachery," Ned said. "I went to investigate, but
could not ascertain what it was, and was unable to return to the camp
yesterday. I do not know whether it was a false lead, or whether there is some
great threat to your person. I am concerned."
The khan nodded. "I appreciate that. I am glad you are safe. I will be

alert, and will keep you close by my side until we know more."
"I hope I was not needed," Ned said. "I did not mean to be derelict."
"Have no concern. That new adviser, Ormond, developed a great new strategy to
implement your suggestion that we make peace with Moscow so we can go after
Prince Dmitri elsewhere. The problem was in convincing the Muscovites of our
good faith, as we have not been kind to other Russians. We sent some chiefs to

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meet with them and tell them that we bear them no ill-will; it is only Dmitri,
the rebellious prince, that we seek. If they will send me presents, open their
gates, and allow me to tour this ancient city and see its curiosities, I will
then withdraw and let them be."
Ned was surprised and gratified, but wary. "I don't think they would believe
that."
"That's the key. We sent the two sons of Dmitri of Nijni Novgorod, Vasili and
Simeon, with our messengers, to pledge on their swords as Russians and
Christians that we will keep our word. Mongols they would not believe, but
Christian princes they will."
Still Ned doubted. "If there is some great treachery planned, the
Russians could agree, and it could be a ruse. If you go into that city, they
could abruptly close the gates, then turn on you and slaughter your retinue
and take you captive. Perhaps this was the plot I was unable to track down."
Toqtamish pondered. "I value your caution, Ned. Suppose we reverse it, and ask
them to come out to visit us? Ostei can come to see me in my tent.
That way I will not enter the city, and can not be cut off from my forces."
"That would be better," Ned agreed. "But take care that they sneak no arms
into your presence."
"Of course." The khan smiled. "Then it is settled. We may soon be finished
here." Toqtamish glanced at him. "But stay in my sight, my valued friend, and
keep your militant sister by your side, just in case. We can never be too
careful."
Indeed, it seemed that they had worked it out. The Mongol camp waited while
the officials of the city consulted. Then the gates were thrown open, and
Commander Ostei emerged, with his retinue bearing rich presents. He was
followed by priests bearing a large Christian cross. These were followed by
the boyars, the nobles. Finally the common citizens of Moscow trooped out,
wearing decorative colors. It was a fine procession. The Russians were so very
glad to be relieved of the siege.
Still, Ned worried. Where was the great treachery Wona had warned of?
Should he have submitted to her passion, for the sake of the information she
had? Yet if she had overheard it from her husband, Ormond, the treachery must
be associated in some way with him, rather than the Russians. Unless he was a
secret agent for the Russians.
Ned looked around. He did not see Ormond or Wona in the throng around the
khan. There were a good number of armed troops close by, abridging the normal
proscription against arms near the khan, but that would be because of the
concern about possible betrayal. So Toqtamish should be safe. But why was the
adviser who had arranged this encounter not present? He should be claiming due
honor. Instead Ned himself was here, when he had not been responsible for the
settlement. That was odd.
Treachery. Oddity. Something did not add up. Ned glanced at Jes, and saw that
she was similarly concerned. Now he wished that he had made a deal with
Wona. Could he have offered her anything other than his child? He wasn't sure,
but he should have tried. Now all he could do was wait and watch, hoping his
instincts were mistaken.
Ostei was escorted directly into the khan's tent. He was smiling. "O
great Khan," he said, his words decipherable though they were in Russian. He
bowed his head.
Then Ormond appeared, carrying a sword. He stepped right up close to

Ostei and swung the sword. Ned saw it as if the motions were slow. He could
not believe it. Ormond was attacking the leader of the city, who was here
under the flag of truce? There must be some mistake!
The sword struck the man. Ostei fell, his blood spurting, amazement rather
than pain on his face.
Then Toqtamish gave a signal, and mayhem erupted. The Mongol guards fell upon
the citizens of Moscow, slaughtering them without mercy. Screams sounded as

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the victims discovered their fate.
Now at last Ned understood the nature of the treachery. Not against the khan
-- by the khan. Wona had heard her husband planning the conspiracy, and knew
that Ned would want to know it. But he had refused to deal on her terms, and
paid the price.
He felt a tugging on his arm. It was Jes. Numbly he followed her. How could
Toqtamish have agreed to such an evil ploy? He should have had Ormond executed
for even suggesting it. Yet it was plain that the khan had agreed to it.
Jes hauled him along to where she had two horses. "Follow me," she said,
mounting.
"But -- " But she was already starting off. All he could do was mount and
follow.
They rode rapidly out of the camp. No one paid them any attention. The
Mongols were too busy cutting down the Russians. Already troops were charging
into the city, where more screaming sounded. The city was doomed.
Only when they were well away from the action did Jes pause so that
Ned's horse could catch up with hers. "But we should not be fleeing the
carnage," he said. "We should be trying to abate it."
"You fool," she said gently. "That woman took you -- and what's worse,
deceived me too. We are done here."
"Wona? But she would have warned me, if I had only -- "
"Don't you see, innocent brother: she was part of it. Her job was not to tell
you, but to distract you, so that you would have no chance to learn of the
treachery. She kept you away from the camp for a full day and night, while the
thing was set up. She accomplished her mission."
He realized it was true. Wona had used her attempted seduction only as a means
of distraction, so that he would not guess her true purpose. While her husband
arranged the grand deception. They had known that Ned would never agree to it,
so they had kept him well clear of it -- until too late.
Toqtamish had conspired too, making sure Ned had no suspicion, keeping him and
his sister close by so they could not question anyone or spy anything going
on. They had been deceived exactly like the two Russian princes. How cunningly
it had been accomplished!
"I can not serve Toqtamish any more," he said, grim and heartbroken.
"That's why I got you out of there," she said. "He would have had to have you
killed. I think he thought you would see reason, by his definition, once the
deed was done. But I knew better. He does not understand honor; he thinks it
means merely that you will not betray him. Honor to an enemy is an alien
concept for him."
She was right. "But what can we do now?" he asked plaintively.
"We can gallop home and get our family to safety before the khan's minions
come for all of us," she said.
He realized it was true. The family's years of affluence and favor with the
Golden Horde were through. "We shall have to return to Timur," he said.
"He will protect us, and send us somewhere safe."
"We are, after all, Turks," she said. "And it will not annoy him that you are
now Moslem."
"Yes. Perhaps I can continue to help the family. All is not lost."
"All is not lost," she agreed.

So it was that Toqtamish, the lackluster Mongol pretender, became one of the
two major figures of central Asia. In four years, 1378-82, he showed
considerable savvy, so that he came to rival Timur himself in power and
influence. How could he have so suddenly changed?
He must have gotten a smart new adviser, who understood the politics of the
day and knew what pitfalls to avoid, and he must have paid attention to that
man. How such an adviser came to him, and precisely what he said, are unknown
to history, but it could have been as presented here. The fact is that
Toqtamish was surely neither as stupid in the early days nor as smart in the

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middle days as he seems. The prior khan of the White Horde pursued him
relentlessly because he knew that Toqtamish was legitimate, competent, and
ambitious; he gave the handsome young pretender no chance to get established.
Only the generous and patient intercession of Timur enabled him to survive.
But once he was established, Toqtamish knew how to use the reins of power, and
did so with dispatch. The Golden Horde had been losing its control over
Russia; he restored it for another century. Moscow was looted and burned, and
after it the other Russian towns were destroyed. Dmitri never actually took
the field against Toqtamish.
But what happened after he lost his good adviser? Toqtamish surely thought he
could do well enough without him. And he did, for a while. He sent a
conciliatory letter to Prince Dmitri, proposing peace and reaffirming
Dmitri's position as Grand Prince of Muscovy, under Toqtamish. Dmitri,
yielding to the reality of Mongol power, sent his son Vasili as a hostage.
Vasili was well treated, and there was no more trouble on the Russian front.
Meanwhile Toqtamish consolidated his power among the Kipchak tribes ruthlessly
and effectively. He dominated central Asia from the border of Europe to the
border of China.
Then he went wrong. He did the one thing his Turkic adviser would never have
countenanced: he cast eyes on the territory of his benefactor, Timur. In
1385, while Timur was busy in Persia, Toqtamish invaded Azerbaijan, the
territory southwest of the Caspian Sea, with an army of 90,000. He sacked its
chief city, and returned home before the winter intensified.
Timur was annoyed. He wrapped up his business in Persia and moved to retake
Azerbaijan in 1387. Toqtamish, despite a sensible reminder from some advisers:
"Who knows whether, in some change of fortune, you might have to go again to
Timur for help," marched his own army to meet him. A Mongol party made a sneak
attack on the Turks, only to be countered by a second force and defeated. Yet
Timur sent his captives back with a gentle and deserved reproof.
This enraged the khan, and the war continued for several years. Timur quelled
rebellions and drove off the invaders, then invaded the Golden Horde. He
defeated Toqtamish and drove him from power. The Mongols remained in control
of Russia, but the faithless friend had paid the price of his foolishness. Too
bad he didn't stay with his good adviser.
Chapter 16 -- WALL
The Mongols dominated Asia for centuries, slowly losing territory to the
cultures of the west, south, and east. The Chinese were especially hard hit by
their depredations. The Mongols conquered China in 1280 and lost it in 1368
when the Ming dynasty was established. Thereafter the Mongols periodically
raided China, as before, and at one point even took the emperor captive. The
Chinese realized that there had to be some better way. Thus their efforts to
build walls, to protect them from the invasions from the north.
However, the three thousand mile long Great Wall of China, existing from the
Ch'in Empire in 221 B.C. on, is a myth. Walls existed, but these were

mainly local, made of earth packed around wooden supports, and they were not
maintained well. They served more as boundary markers than as defense. Land
within the walls was regulated and taxed; land beyond the walls was
wilderness. Only when the walls were actively defended were they effective,
and the money and manpower for this were usually lacking. The frontier was
actually guarded by widely spaced forts. The invading nomads had no trouble
going around, through, or over the walls. A single, unified, manned, stone
wall defending China as a whole simply did not exist, despite cultivated
mythology. Only after the Mongols were expelled did more impressive bulwarks
develop, but even then there was no unified project. There was a series of
smaller building projects, each designed to shore up a weakened section of the
northern perimeter. Even these relatively modest efforts suffered from lack of
planning, design, funds, and manpower.
In 1470 an official named Yü Tzu-Chün surveyed and repaired the western

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defenses. He had 12,000 troops to defend an area more than 500 miles long,
protected by twenty mud-brick forts. He convinced the emperor that this was
hopeless, and was given 40,000 men and over a million silver pieces, and he
built a wall about 550 miles long with some 800 watch towers and sentry posts.
This was effective. But Yü knew that the barbarians would simply go around it,
so he petitioned the emperor for funds and men to greatly expand the defensive
perimeter. This could have been the first true Great Wall. But he annoyed the
bureaucrats, who surely felt they had better uses for all that money, and was
forced to retire. The barbarian raids continued.
In the 1540s Altan Khan succeeded in unifying the Mongols of the region.
He made several attempts to establish peaceful trade relations with the Ming,
but was continually rebuffed, and often his messengers were killed. This has
never been smart policy when dealing with Mongols. The Chinese emperor of the
time was Chia-Ching, who reigned from 1522 to 1566, but was not much
interested in the actual business of governing. He preferred to indulge his
lifelong quest for the secret of immortality. Fortunately for China, his
disinterest allowed more rational heads to handle the border fortifications.
The far-west fortresses and walls were massively rebuilt, though this
consisted mainly of bricking over the original earth walls. A network of
signal towers was set up, so that messages could be sent quickly, by flame,
smoke, or cannon-blast. This helped.
But the main threat was farther to the east, where Altan Khan was ambitious.
Yü's original construction had been allowed to erode, but periodic repairs and
new construction had maintained that portion of the border defense. But nearer
the capital city of Peking was where the Mongols repeatedly raided. There were
two lines of defense, enclosing two garrison cities, Ta-t'ung and Hsan-fu.
They had once been formidable, but early in the sixteenth century had fallen
into decline. The soil of that region was dry and unproductive, so the
military supply farms suffered continual shortages and the local diet was
poor. The troops consisted of hereditary soldiers and prisoners exiled to the
frontier for life. Long winter hours manning the towers often led to frostbite
or worse. Officers were cruel, and morale was terrible. There had been several
mutinies, including a major revolt in 1524.
Now the region faced its worst threat yet, in the form of the unified Mongols
under Altan Khan.
In 1544 Weng Wan-ta was named commander of this disaster area. It was his job
to make sure that the formidable Mongol forces did not get through to ravage
the rich countryside of the capital region. Weng was competent, but this was
almost too much of a challenge.
The time is 1549; the setting is the two garrison walled loop northwest of
Peking.
IT WAS NICE, RIDING WITH her brother, Jes thought, because then it

wasn't so deadly dull. She craved adventure, while Ned craved intellectual
challenge. Theoretically they had both, here, because there was no more
dangerous region than the one where the Mongols liked to attack, and there was
plenty of architectural design and construction. But in practice, all they saw
was walls and towers and bleak stretches of wilderness.
She and Ned were on a routine scouting mission, making sure the defenses had
not broken down or been breached. Sometimes a stone fell out of place, or a
storm washed a gully under a support. She spotted such problems, and Ned
considered them, and then designed superior replacements. But in the long
stretches between such minor discoveries, there was nothing much to do but
chat.
"So did you give Wildflower a baby yet?" she inquired brightly.
"I'm trying," he said. "And she's trying. But so far all the joy has been in
the effort, not the success, as with marching." She appreciated his grimace;
they much preferred riding to marching, but the common soldiers had no such
choice. "But what about you? You've been married longer than I have."

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"I don't want a baby. That would interfere with my free life."
"Odd how a sister thinks she can lie to a brother," he remarked to the wind.
"All right, I lied," she said crossly. "I want a baby. We've certainly tried.
But it doesn't come. If you can tell me what's wrong -- "
"You're lean," he said. "Not much female flesh on you."
"Ittai doesn't complain. He finds what he likes readily enough."
"Oh, you've got it," he said quickly. "More than you used to. But not as
generously as some."
"I wouldn't want to be fat. Some of those cows -- "
"My point is that, in my limited observation, girls with some flesh on their
bodies get babies faster. They don't have to be fat, just reasonably female.
I'm trying to get Wildflower to eat more, but she's young."
Jes ran the women she knew through her mind. Ned was right; the plump ones had
the children. Could the secret be that simple?
Meanwhile her eyes were constantly surveying the wall they paralleled, as were
Ned's. "Oops," she murmured, reining in her horse.
"Mongols!" he exclaimed, keeping his voice low. "They've broken through."
"That's not hard to do, because we haven't yet completed the extension of the
wall," she said. "I don't see a break, but there's no doubt they're through."
"Cover me while I get an estimate," he said, dismounting.
She remained on her steed, keeping trees between it and the Mongol force,
while Ned crept closer afoot. She unslung her bow and nocked an arrow.
She would shoot any Mongol who came after Ned. But she hoped he would not be
spied, because outrunning Mongols was chancy at best, even with a head start
and familiarity with the terrain.
Ned was soon back. "Too many to count," he said. "They are here in force.
Full-scale alert."
Jes nodded. They guided their horses quietly back the way they had come, until
well enough clear to be able to risk the sound of galloping. Then they moved
at full speed west, toward the nearest signal tower.
"Full alert!" Jes called as they approached. "Mongols through the wall!"
"How many?" the guard captain asked as his men blew up the signal fire.
"We couldn't count," Ned said. "But by their organization, I'd guess at least
10,000. This is no skirmish squad."
The men threw damp leaves on the fire, and a big cloud of smoke went up.
Unfortunately, the wind was wrong, and the cloud blew toward the Mongols.
"This is mischief," Jes muttered.
"Our men will spy it," the captain said.

"But the Mongols will spy it first," she said. "They're not idiots. We'd
better carry the message directly."
"Too late to call back the smoke," Ned said. "In any event, the signal system
will far outpace any riders."
"But General Weng will want more detailed information than the signals can
transmit, and with the Mongols alerted, there won't be much time to provide
it."
"So we'd better hurry," he agreed.
They set out again, moving at the maximum sustainable pace for their horses.
Probably the Mongols would not be in pursuit, because they would fear an
ambush. But the Mongols would certainly be ready.
As they rode, Jes thought about the Mongols. Ned's wife was a Mongol princess,
but she was loyal to Ned and the family. Ned had at one time worked for the
Mongol prince, but that had ended badly. Their experience with Mongols helped
them here. Indeed, General Weng had hoped to use Ned as an emissary to
reestablish trade that would benefit both the Mongols and the empire, and
defuse hostilities. But the eunuchs who ran the empire distrusted the Mongols,
thinking they would only spy and cause trouble if allowed into the country, so
that sensible option was closed. Thus the far more expensive and dangerous
option of military defense was the only feasible alternative. But Weng's

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massive and necessary wall extension project had been underfunded from the
start, delaying and weakening it. It was too bad. Now they were about to
suffer, again, the consequence of the empire's multiple follies.
The horses were lathered despite the cold March air, but they made it to a
larger fort by dusk. The commander assured them that the message had already
been relayed, and that the general would be expecting them. They pinpointed
the location of the enemy on the commander's tactical map so that he could
prepare more specifically. Now Jes and Ned could relax, briefly, and get some
needed rest. They were given supper and bedding for the night.
"Why couldn't you have been Wildflower?" Ned complained as they settled down
under a joint blanket.
"Same reason you couldn't be Ittai," she returned archly.
They snuggled close together, sharing warmth, as they had done from childhood.
They had always been best friends as well as closest siblings. They didn't
mind seeing each other naked, and they shared and kept each other's secrets.
On occasion they had problems with their spouses, which they could discuss
with each other and ameliorate. When Ned was hurt because Wildflower declined
love one night, Jes reminded him about the female cycle. "Cramps are bad
enough, without that." When Jes was furious because Ittai didn't remember the
date of their first meeting, Ned told her that he remembered when Lin brought
Wildflower home, but he couldn't tell the date of the month that had happened.
"We men don't mean any harm. It's just not the way our minds work,"
he explained, and she realized it was so.
The next day they rode the rest of the way to the main camp, where
General Weng was hastily assembling his forces. They were ushered immediately
to him to make their report.
"They seem to have circled the end of the wall," Ned said. He did the talking,
being the man. "Now they are coming this way, in force."
"Damn those empire bureaucrats!" Weng swore. "If they hadn't cut our funds, we
would have had that wall complete by this time." He was right, of course. Sam
and Dirk were out of work at the moment because the money to pay the wall
builders had run out. Fortunately they could also fight, or work on the farm.
"How strong are they?"
"I didn't see their full force, only a contingent. But the nature of their
formation is suggestive of a full-scale invasion." He was being cautious, but
he would not have said that much without being almost certain that there was
indeed a full army following the Mongol vanguard.

"Go secure your premises and report to Hsan-fu." Weng turned away, already
barking orders at lesser officers.
They left. The general was nothing if not efficient.
Another hour brought them to the farm, which was by the Nan-yang River near
the Hsan-fu fortress. It wasn't much, and this was the fallow season, but
Flo was doing her best to instill some fertility in the soil. They were
working to divert some of the river water to flow to the farm for irrigation.
Sam and Dirk had dug a contour channel most of the way to the garden. But that
work had to stop during this crisis.
They hastily closed down their operations and took their valuable horses and
supplies to the fortress. Hsan-fu was large and well situated, guarding a pass
through the hills. The Mongols would have to take it to secure their route;
otherwise they would be vulnerable to harassment from their rear.
Despite this certainty of attack, it was the safest place to be, because the
countryside would be governed by the Mongol horsemen. Once sure of the safety
of the others, Sam and Dirk armed themselves and went to report to their
combat units.
By nightfall they were safely in the fortress, crowded into their makeshift
temporary billets along with the other farming families of the region. As a
general rule, the farmers did not mix with the troops, because the officers
considered themselves above the farmers, and the prisoner conscripts were apt

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to be rough and uncouth. That was one reason the farmers were being given
shelter within the fortress: the military discipline kept the troops from
molesting them. Many soldiers were also farmers, on the military farms, but
these were often unsuccessful, because the soldiers lacked the desire,
patience, and aptitude to make the soil productive. Their own family was
unusual in its mix, with warriors, designers, and builders all part of it.
But that was because they had made it a point to keep the family together,
never allowing it to fragment. It traveled as a unit, finding strength in its
internal variety. Many Chinese families were unified through the generations,
but their own mixture of classes was remarkable.
Jes found herself seated beside her younger sister Lin as they ate their
gruel. Lin was fifteen, and blossoming into by far the loveliest member of the
family. Ned's Mongol wife Wildflower was somewhat better developed in the
torso, and had lustrous black hair, and Sam's wife Snow was much better
endowed, but Lin had a youthful delicacy of face and feature that made men and
women alike pause. She ran errands among the troops without trouble, because
men were inclined to protect her rather than molest her, and for any man who
might feel otherwise, there were several who would come quickly to her rescue
if any hint of a need arose.
But Lin was plainly unhappy at the moment. She was silent, and her eyes were
somewhat puffy; she had been crying.
Jes did not look at her directly. "I don't wish to pry," she murmured.
"It's Li," Lin said, sniffling.
Jes sorted through her memories. Li was a neighboring youth of relatively good
family, husky and handsome. Evidently there was a romance in the offing. "Li,"
she agreed.
"He saw my hand."
That said it all. Jes freed a hand and put her arm around Lin's shoulders. The
girl turned into her bosom and quietly sobbed.
Lin was beautiful, but that six-fingered left hand might as well have been a
third eye, considering the effect it had on the superstitious. She usually
wore a mittenlike glove on that hand, and in winter that was easily justified.
But it was hard to hold hands with a boy without evoking an unkind reaction.
The members of the family were used to it, and thought nothing of it; all
Lin's fingers were functional, and she could work cloth quite well.
Yet outside the family --

Then Jes had a notion. "There are men who are not handsome, yet who are
worthwhile," she murmured. "Look at Sam. Look at Dirk."
"Look at Ittai," Lin said, a glint of humor interrupting her misery.
"All right. My husband's not young or handsome, but his wealth makes our lives
halfway comfortable, and he's certainly a good man. Suppose you considered
someone like that?"
"Oh I wouldn't want to take Ittai from you." The mood was definitely lifting,
in the rapid way possible to youth.
Jes closed her hand and gave Lin a light punch on the shoulder. "Thank you for
that favor, Sister dear. You know what I mean. Suppose there were a good man,
who had some fault not of the mind or personality, but of the body, that made
other girls reject him? He would be like you, in that respect. You would know
exactly how he felt."
"Yes, I would," Lin agreed, wonderingly. "I never thought of that before."
"He might be a future Sam, or Dirk, or Ittai. Or Ned. You need to learn to see
beyond the superficial."
"I'll try," Lin agreed. Then she disengaged and ate her gruel with more gusto.
But she glanced back at Jes, mischievously. "You need to have a baby."
Jes was careful in her reaction. "Why?"
"Because then maybe you'd have enough bosom to cry into, as Flo does."
Jes laughed. "I'll try."
Next morning Weng's troops massed outside the fortress, bracing for the

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onslaught of the Mongols. The incursion had happened so suddenly that the
Chinese force still was not complete or fully organized. The signal system had
allowed Weng to track the Mongols' progress into Chinese territory, but they
were moving so swiftly that the scattered defensive forces had not had time to
gather. The Mongols, inveterately clever warriors, had surely planned it that
way, quietly slipping through and massing until discovered. The Mongols
understood the signal system perfectly; in fact they destroyed the towers at
every opportunity. It was a sign of its effectiveness that the clever enemy
had not been able to nullify it more than partially.
Sam and Dirk marched, but neither Ned nor Jes was allowed to join the main
army. "You are too competent to risk in the field," Weng had said gruffly. "I
need your designs for construction." That was Ned. "And an accurate bow to
defend the fortress." Jes. The general knew her nature, but saved her face by
not mentioning it. She suspected that her husband had made a deal with him, to
keep her out of mischief. Ittai was of course too old for combat. That was a
private comfort. But not too old for command, so he was in charge of one of
the outlying forts.
However, the fortress did need defending, and she was good with the bow, so
she didn't object. She reported to the wall foreman, who assigned her to the
crew defending the north gate. The packed earth ramparts had been enclosed by
stone and topped by small towers, just as in the walls themselves, and seemed
formidable enough. But Jes had seen Mongol attacks before, and took nothing
for granted. With luck, Altan Khan had not brought siege equipment along this
time, and would not make a really determined effort. Not while being harassed
by Weng's army. Otherwise the fort could be in real trouble, because the
Mongols knew how to take down a wall by pulling out a few stones and mining
out the dirt that was its core. The point was to prevent the
Mongols from ever having the chance to do that.
So why hadn't they built all the walls out of solid stone? Because it was said
that it took a hundred men to do in stone what a single man could do in packed
earth. The walls needed to be done quickly, before the Mongols attacked again,
and there simply was not enough manpower to accomplish that.
Even if there had been more men, there was not the money to pay them, because
only a fraction of Weng's sensible estimate was actually provided by the

stingy empire. So most of the work was in earth, just as it had been in the
past.
Jes wished that the emperor could be sent out here for a few months, to endure
the hardships and see the impossibility of accomplishing enduring construction
with the resources provided. But the emperor was too interested in Taoist
mysticism to bother with such practicalities. So those in charge of the
defenses had to struggle through inadequately, hoping they could stave off the
Mongols one more time.
Well, the family had sought protection from the Mongols. This frontier post
had not been their preference, but the present Chinese administration simply
did not trust them enough to let them farther in. Jes actually liked it well
enough, because there was adventure and responsibility here, but the others
would have preferred a farm in the rich river delta to the east. Maybe once
the walls were finished, it would be allowed.
Extra arrows from the armory were distributed, because it would not be
feasible to recover expended ones. If the enemy charged the wall, there would
be flaming tar poured out, too. It would be expensive for the Mongols to take
this fortress. But not as expensive as it would be for the defenders, if the
Mongols succeeded. It would be better to die to a man -- and woman -- before
that happened. Certainly they would not trust any Mongol assurances about a
truce. Not out here in the combat zone. If the emperor ever got sensible and
made a trading pact with the Mongols, as they wanted, then it might be all
right. But the Ming dynasty had been founded by those who drove out the
Mongols from the rule of China, and that animosity might take centuries to

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fade. So common sense gave way to abiding hatred and contempt.
Nothing happened on the first day. But the second day, the Mongols drove back
Weng's army. Ned was right: they were here in force. Weng had to retreat to
the fortress. His losses were not great, but he did not have enough force to
defeat the Mongols in open battle. However, more of his troops were arriving
daily, and his reserves were growing.
The Mongols were aware of this. They knew they had to take Hsan-fu quickly, or
be at an increasing disadvantage. Now they laid siege to it.
The arrows came in sheets. Jes and the other bowmen took cover behind the
towers. They would fire back when the Mongols tried to charge.
But a number of the arrows were blazing. They arched high, their target the
interior of the fortress, where they would set anything flammable afire.
Their burning pitch was almost impossible to extinguish; the arrows had to be
grasped by their shafts and buried in sand. There were crews for that purpose,
and they were busy now. But it was dangerous, because many regular arrows
still rained down, catching those who were exposed. So it was necessary to
have a shield-bearer protect an arrow-fetcher. This slowed down the work, and
some blazes did start.
The Mongol horsemen charged the wall, under the cover of another ferocious
volley of arrows. This was what the defenders had been waiting for.
Protected by their shield-bearers, they stood and fired at the men outside.
They had the advantage of height, and of being stationary, and of planning.
They made their arrows count. The closer the Mongols came, the easier targets
they and their horses were. The fire from the fortress became punishing
indeed.
The Mongols swerved away before reaching the wall. But the defenders did not
cease. Jes took careful aim at the back of the nearest horseman, and put an
arrow through it. He had light armor, but at this range it wasn't enough;
her arrow penetrated, and he fell from his horse. She was already orienting on
another.
The Mongols set up catapults and hurled heavy rocks into the fortress.
These were dangerous, as there was no way to stop such missiles. But Weng sent
a detachment out to attack the catapult crews specifically, and soon those

were silenced.
This was the pattern for two days. But by then the rest of Weng's forces had
assembled, and were closing in on Altan Khan's army. The Mongols had battered
the fortress but failed to take it, and now they were forced to withdraw.
They tried the old Mongol trick of false retreat, but it didn't work.
Weng brought sufficient resources to bear to defeat the enemy when it turned,
and the retreat became real.
Reports came constantly back to the fortress. Weng's forces were still getting
stronger as units arrived, while the Mongols had no backup. It became apparent
that this was not a major Mongol invasion, but more of an exploratory
incursion. Had it been able to take the fortress, then Altan Khan would have
been well situated to invade China at his convenience. Since the surprise raid
had not succeeded, all he could do was go home and plan something else.
There were several other engagements, and Weng's forces prevailed in them all.
The Mongols were definitely being driven out. The defenses had held.
Jes chafed at the inaction. She had few enough chances to fight, and with the
fortress no longer under siege, there was no action here. So when one of the
messengers collapsed from a wound, she slipped in and took his place.
The commandant didn't see her, or perhaps pretended not to. Thus she
"returned" to the general's camp, riding a swift horse. This was more like it;
there might yet be some combat.
But there was not. Scouts had verified that the Mongols were circling the wall
to the east, going back to Mongolia. The Chinese would remain vigilant until
quite sure, but the chances were that this raid was over.
Disconsolate, Jes prepared to be sent back to the fortress. But as she dawdled

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near the edge of camp, looking for any pretext not to check in properly and be
discovered, a motion caught her eye. Someone was firing an arrow at her!
She turned her horse as she brought out her own bow. But the Mongol ambusher
was already in full gallop, streaking away. She would have little chance to
catch him, and he would only lead her past an ambush anyway.
Besides, she realized that he hadn't intended to strike her with the arrow.
The range had been such that he could have winged her; no Mongol was that bad
a shot. The arrow had landed in the ground right in front of her horse. It had
a peculiar thick shaft. Almost as if --
She hastily dismounted and went to fetch the arrow. It was! It was a message.
There was a scroll wrapped tightly around the shaft.
She knew better than to unwrap it. She remounted and took the arrow directly
to General Weng.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded as he spied her.
"Bringing you a message arrow," she said serenely, presenting it. "It landed
in front of my horse."
He took it and unwrapped it. " 'If trade is not resumed, I will attack
Peking in the autumn. ALTAN KHAN,' " he read. Then he looked up. "It has his
seal. It's authentic. The man wants to trade. So do I. But will the emperor
listen?"
The question was rhetorical. None of this warfare would have happened, if the
emperor had been willing to listen to reason. But the message would be sent on
to Peking anyway.
The question of whether only plump women can conceive babies is not simple,
but studies have shown that the truly lean ones, such as athletes or the
malnourished, do have that problem, and may suspend menstruation. There does
have to be a certain minimal amount of body fat, or nature shuts down that
particular apparatus. With the poor local diet of the time the poorer women
could have had a problem, while the better off ones did not.

The message to Peking was not heeded. Like many other leaders, the emperor
preferred to fight, at whatever internecine cost, than to make a reasonable
settlement.
Within three months Weng was promoted to minister of war, so he never saw the
end of his building project. Then his father died, and he retired to his home
in Kwangtung, in southern China. The Mongols attacked again in 1550, coming
through a broken section of wall north of Ta-t'ung. They drove away all forces
arrayed against them, and came again to the fortress Hsan-fu. But once again
they were unable to take that fortress city. There is a suspicion that they
were bought off by bribes by Weng's less-competent successor. At any rate
Weng's double-wall frontier had held.
So Altan Khan went around the walls -- a long way around. He took his army
east all the way to the sea, where he was able to skirt the defense. Then he
descended onto the plains around Peking. He drove away the Ming cavalry
arrayed against him, and raided and ravaged within sight of the city walls.
The sky was filled with the smoke of burning fields and estates. Only when
they were good and ready, did the Mongols return to the steppe.
The emperor really should have agreed to resume trade.
Chapter 17 -- MELODY
France was a major player in the New World in the late sixteenth and early
seventeenth centuries. Driven by the lucrative fur trade, her territories in
North America came to include most of what is now southern
Canada and most of what is now central United States. But this was mainly on
paper; the actual French population was exceedingly thin, and strongly
contested by the American Indians who had a prior claim on the land. In the
end, Britain and Spain were to prevail in North America, at the expense of
France.
But this was not evident in 1661, when King Louis XIV assumed actual control
of France, after a number of years of regency by his mother and dominance by

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Cardinal Mazarin, successor to the infamous Cardinal Richelieu.
The young king studied governance and learned his lessons well, and was to
become one of France's longest-reigning and greatest monarchs. The court of
Louis XIV was the most magnificent in Europe. The Thirty Years War had
exhausted much of continental Europe, and England was still struggling to
regain its strength after the collapse of Cromwell's Puritan state. But while
Louis XIV was the closest thing to an absolute monarch in Europe, his
authority was still constrained by the wealth and power of the nobility. His
common sense and diligence enabled him to gauge the temper of potential
adversaries, and to achieve his ends without arousing their overt opposition.
In 1661 the colonial governor in Canada, Baron d'Avauger, sent a messenger to
the court at Versailles to plead for aid, because the colony was being
severely pinched by naval weakness and the Iroquois Indians. The emissary he
sent was Pierre Boucher, the governor of Trois-Rivierès in Quebec.
Boucher met with Louis XIV and impressed upon him the benefits that a thorough
exploitation of the New World's resources might bring. Louis and his excellent
new finance minister Jean-Baptiste Colbert favored this, but a number of
powerful nobles did not. Therefore the extent of the help the king might
provide was in doubt. Unless Louis found a way to nullify some opposition, the
French presence in Canada could be in trouble.
LYNNE STOOD AT THE PROW of the great ship, gazing ahead. There it was:
New France! The great land some called Quebec, and some called Canada. It was
covered with green forest. Some of that forest would be theirs. They would
make a farm more wonderful than ever, and have the very best and richest furs,

here in the great New World.
Then they were at Quebec. The Fort St. Louis de Quebec sat on a promontory
dominating the St. Lawrence River. There was the colonial governor's residence
and administrative offices, and the Chateau St. Louis, the cathedral, the
Jesuit college, the Ursulines convent, and the Hotel Dieu, which was the
hospital run by nuns. There were several wealthy private houses on the
promontory, but most of the homes and warehouses for the merchants were at the
foot of the cliffs, along the edge of the St. Lawrence and St. Charles rivers.
A few were built of stone, with steep pitched roofs like those of northern
France, but most were of wood or wood and plaster. There were, in all, about
800 people living there.
But they would not stay there. The best land was farther inland. They would
carve it out of the virgin territory, and commute to Quebec for trading, or
when the Iroquois made it too dangerous. But maybe that problem had been
exaggerated. Because some of the horrors that had been described were simply
too horrible to be believed. So she didn't believe them. Quite. Nevertheless -
-
Lynne woke. She had been dreaming again. She wanted so much to see the land
that Jessamine and Ittai had described. The family would be going there on the
ship's next trip. She just knew that everything there would be so much better
than it was here in France. After all, Jessamine and Ittai had laid claim to a
suitable farmstead in Montreal. The soil was rich, and the fur trade was
richer. All the region needed was more people. But it was hard to get more
people, because the Iroquois had gotten guns and ammunition from the dastardly
Dutch traders at Fort Orange, and were dedicated to driving the
French out of the St. Lawrence River Valley. But with the help King Louis
would provide, that should not be too bad a threat. She hoped.
"Come on," Jessamine said briskly. "We must be ladies today."
Lynne suppressed a smirk. At age fifteen -- almost sixteen -- she liked
dressing up in skirts, but her big sister didn't. Jessamine would much rather
be garbed as a sailor on her husband's ship, passing for a male sea hand. But
today Ittai had to play the part of the rich merchant seaman he was, and
Jessamine had to be a lovely lady. And so did Lynne. The others were closing
down the farm and packing the ship, but Lynne was coming to the court because

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a pretty face just might incline the king toward their cause. Their mission
was to support Pierre Boucher's plea for aid for New France. So that it would
be safe for them to move there.
They helped each other dress. Both of them had free-flowing gowns with laced
bodices. When the laces were pulled tight, the bodices squeezed the breasts,
making them swell out the top. Jessamine had put on some weight in recent
months, and was more buxom than Lynne had thought. Lynne swelled similarly,
though the bodice was uncomfortable and restricted her breathing.
They did each other's hair, adding perfume and ribbons, making it curl just
so. Jeweled combs made it sparkle. But the worst of it was the high-
heeled shoes. They had to walk carefully, lest they stumble. "I feel like a
clown," Jessamine muttered. "I wish Snow could have done this instead. She has
the bosom for it."
"She would swell right out of this bodice!" Lynne said, giggling as she
glanced down into her forced cleavage.
"Precisely. The king would surely like that."
When they were fully prepared, Lynne drew on her gloves. The left one was
specially made to conceal her embarrassment.
Ittai arrived. "Are we ready for the court?" he inquired from outside the
room.
"Come on in," Jessamine said. "We're bedecked."
He entered the room. He was wearing a long and ornamented vest, culottes
gathered at the knees with buckles, lace stockings, and boots. Overall he wore

a long open coat, whose wide sleeves were trimmed with lace, and a wide soft
hat tilted up on three sides and sporting a plume of feathers. He had shaved
his face, except for a great mustache. "You look lovely!"
Jessamine grimaced, but Lynne spoke up. "You're really handsome!"
He doffed his hat to her and made a little bow. "Clothes make the man,
fortunately." He gave her a second glance. "You have grown, Lynne."
"No I haven't. It's this squeezing bodice. Everything I have is outside it."
She tapped one of her bulges just above the lacing.
"It will do." He turned to Jessamine. "Bear up, my love; soon we shall be free
of this nuisance."
"I'd rather fight a duel," Jessamine snapped.
He smiled. "Dueling has been forbidden, fortunately for any knave who might
cross you."
"I've got my knife anyway."
"But you couldn't draw it without lifting your skirt, and showing the knave
more delight than he deserves."
"Stop making me miserable." But Jessamine finally did return his smile.
Jessamine did have good legs, because she was so active, and she liked having
her husband appreciate them. In fact Lynne suspected that Jessamine really
didn't mind being required to dress up and prove she was a woman. As long as
she got chances betweentimes to adventure in the fashion of a man.
They went out to the coach. Ittai gallantly assisted them both in boarding,
before joining them inside. "Remember: ladylike throughout," he said gravely.
"No fighting." He glanced at Jessamine. "And no cartwheels." He glanced at
Lynne.
They both had to laugh. The thought of turning a cartwheel in this outfit was
hilarious. "That knave's eyes would pop out," Lynne said.
"So would our breasts," Jessamine added.
"And you would never get them crammed back in," Ittai agreed. "Pregnancy
becomes you, my love."
"What?" Lynne asked, astonished.
"All the more reason not to get bound up like this again," Jessamine said.
Then, to Lynne: "Yes. I have missed two periods. I think I am with child. At
last."
"Great! Now you'll really have to be a lady."

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"A woman."
"A lady today, a woman always," Ittai said.
The palace at Versailles was southwest of Paris. It was the biggest, fanciest
building Lynne had ever seen. She was dazzled by its great brick walls and
multiple stories. She knew it had started as a hunting lodge, some thirty-five
years before, built by the king's father, but it had been almost continually
expanded. Indeed, there were signs of construction now, as outlying buildings
were being added.
They introduced themselves to the gatekeepers, who checked their roster and
verified that these visitors were expected. A page guided them to the
breakfast chamber of the king. Pierre Boucher was already there, in his best
clothing, along with a number of courtiers Lynne didn't recognize. There they
waited until Louis completed his breakfast and acknowledged their presence.
The king was a handsome man in his early twenties, quite well dressed and
surprisingly free of affectation. He wore a magnificent head of golden curls,
his hair surrounding his face and covering his shoulders. Lynne might have
mistaken him for a woman, as he wore neither beard nor mustache, had he not
been so obviously the king.
"Ah yes, Monsieur Boucher," Louis said. "From New France. I am so pleased to
meet you. And your fine merchant captain, Ittai, of whom I have heard good
things. And -- " He glanced meaningfully at the women.
"My wife, Jessamine," Ittai said quickly, and Jessamine made a curtsy.

They had practiced, to be sure to do it correctly. "And my wife's sister,
Lynne," he continued after a moment. Now Lynne curtsied, relieved to
accomplish it without mishap.
"Charming, charming," Louis said. "Come with me to the council chamber, and we
shall see what all this is about."
He meant only the men, of course, as women had no place in governance.
The two of them had ceased to exist.
But as they turned to leave, a woman approached them. "Lynne," she said.
"We have met before."
Startled, Lynne looked at her. The women was indeed somehow familiar.
She was beautiful, but that wasn't it.
"We knew your brother Bry," the woman said. "When he was lost in the storm."
Then it registered. "Annette!" Lynne exclaimed. "You danced!"
"Yes, I am here with my husband to instruct courtiers in the new dances,"
Annette agreed. "He is busy elsewhere at the moment, so I thought I
would tour the palace, which I understand is a marvel. Would you and your
friend care to join me?"
Lynne realized that she had been guilty of a breach of etiquette by not
thinking to introduce her companion. "This is my sister, Jessamine. Her
husband is with Pierre Boucher, of New France."
"How nice to meet you," Annette said.
"Likewise, I am certain," Jessamine said politely.
"She wasn't with us, on that trip," Lynne said. "She was in the other party,
looking for Bry."
"A fine young man," Annette said.
"You should see her dance," Lynne said to Jessamine. "It's wonderful!"
"We shall be holding a class in dance this afternoon," Annette said.
"Perhaps you would like to join us then."
"Yes!" Lynne said eagerly.
Jessamine shrugged. Annette smiled. Then she guided them to the marvelous
chamber of the palace. There were magnificent paintings on every wall, and
statues in every hall. Even the tables were richly ornamented, with glistening
surfaces. In fact the floors, too, were tiled with repeating patterns. A
number of other people were touring too, admiring the phenomenal display of
art.
But after two hours, Lynne was getting bored. She realized that she was not

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yet of an age to properly appreciate such a display. Fortunately they were
able to go to the kitchen and get some rolls of sweet bread to eat.
Then Annette took them to the chamber reserved for practice. There were a
number of ladies there, and a few men. One of the men turned out to be
Annette's husband Hugh, who Lynne noticed was left-handed. It didn't matter,
as he was putting together a nice wooden flute. In a moment he was playing,
and the melody was sprightly. Lynne already felt like dancing.
"Today we have a new dance," Annette announced. "The dance itself is a variant
of ones you may be familiar with, involving a couple, but the music differs.
Now my husband will play the music, so I will need a partner to demonstrate
with." She looked around smiling. She was a lovely woman, so several of the
men were interested.
But before any of them stepped forward, there was a voice from the entrance.
"I will do it, if you please."
Lynne looked -- and was amazed. It was the king! He was surrounded by the
courtiers who had the daily honor of walking with him. There was a murmur, and
the men bowed and the women curtsied.
Louis paused to allow them to complete their devotions, then nodded
graciously. He was every inch the monarch.
"This is a simple demonstration of the dance, perhaps beneath your

notice, Your Majesty," Annette said, seeming slightly daunted herself.
"No dance is beneath my notice," Louis said, striding forward. He was
resplendent in a voluminous robe, which he doffed and handed to a courtier in
order to free his body for the dance. His legs were in snug white stockings,
showing their perfection halfway up the thighs, and his delicate feet were in
high-heeled sandals. "This is a dance lesson. Treat me as you would any other
partner."
"As you wish, Sire," Annette said respectfully. "But I shall have to presume
to give you direction."
"I take direction well, from lovely ladies," he said, with a slight bow.
There was an appreciative chuckle among the courtiers. The king had a
reputation, and evidently fostered it, for no such notice would have been
taken without the knowledge of his approval of it. The courtiers struck Lynne
as fawning sycophants.
The music started over, with a new cadence and melody, and Annette stood
beside the king. "The motions are very small, even delicate," she said. "In
fact we call it the 'minuet.' This dance is stately rather than active, but it
gives a nice effect for spectators. Now you will hold my hand, so, and we
shall turn around each other, facing, in measured step, so." She demonstrated,
smiling at the king, and Louis moved with her, following her motion so
perfectly that it seemed he had always known it. "You are apt at this," she
said approvingly.
"I like the art of dance," Louis said. "I believe it to be one of the most
important disciplines for training the body."
"I certainly agree."
They continued with the demonstration, and Lynne was enraptured. Annette was a
perfect dancer, and so, it became clear, was the king, whose poise and grace
were phenomenal. It was as if the two had always danced together. Taken as a
whole, the little dance was a work of art.
The demonstration must have taken some time, but to Lynne it was only an
instant before it ended. The music stopped, and Annette and Louis made token
bows as the small audience burst into applause. Everyone was taken with this
charming little dance, and it would surely be popular at court.
"Now we must teach the rest of you," Annette said. She glanced at the king.
"Your Majesty, if you would be so kind as to choose another partner -- "
Louis nodded. As Annette selected another man to dance with, the king looked
over the women. Every one of them was eager to be his partner, for not only
was he a monarch, he was a handsome and exceedingly graceful man. Then he

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strode across and proffered his hand, making another little formal bow to the
one he had chosen.
"Go, girl," a woman murmured behind her. Lynne jumped. The king was asking
her!
Dazed, she tried to curtsy, tripped, and stumbled forward toward the man.
Horribly embarrassed, she realized she was about to crash into him. There was
nothing she could do about it, though she seemed to be falling ever so slowly.
Then his hands were on her shoulders, steadying her with a power that shot
right through to her ankles. "That is not the step," he murmured with a smile.
She tried to speak, but her tongue was stuck in her mouth as the flush spread
across her face. What a fool she was making of herself!
"Face me, and step so," he said, taking her right hand and guiding her.
He made a mincing step. She mimicked him, feeling unreal.
Then, slowly, it worked. They stepped together, she following his lead, and
they were dancing the minuet. Near them Annette and her new partner were
dancing too, the man following the woman's lead. He looked as uncertain as
Lynne felt. But her concern was fading, as the reassuring competence of the

king guided her, and after a while she was matching his steps with increasing
competence.
Then the little dance was done, and she was finishing with a twirl under his
hand. She saw her skirts spread out as she turned, showing her legs; it was as
if she were watching from across the room. Then she finished, with a curtsy
that worked just right this time, matching Louis's token bow. There was
another round of applause from the audience. She had done it! She had danced
the dance.
After that, it multiplied. The king danced with other ladies, and Lynne danced
with other men, showing them the nice little steps. She had always liked to
dance, and this was hardly a complicated or demanding one, but she was amazed
at how well she had picked up on it. Louis's guidance had really helped her.
She was having a wonderful time.
In due course the multiplication had taken all the men, including the
courtiers who had accompanied the king, and Lynne found herself without a
partner. She stood at the side, watching the others, admiring the niceties of
the minuet, its little mannered moves. It was easy to do, yet also wonderful
to behold. Jessamine was dancing with a courtier, and seeming to enjoy it.
Then Louis himself dropped out and came to stand beside her. "I know about
your hand," he murmured.
Lynne's world imploded. "Oh!"
"Be at ease, pretty maiden. I speak not to disparage you, but to ask a favor."
"A favor," she echoed numbly.
"The politics of the court can be difficult. There is a noble for whom I
would like to do a favor, so that he will not oppose support for New France.
His word carries considerable weight in certain quarters. I think that if you,
a lovely maiden from that province, were to dance with his son, it would be
effective."
"Oh, I'm not actually from -- "
"I speak figuratively. It is your dream, is it not?"
She nodded numbly. "His son?" She still had trouble accepting the fact that
the king was asking a favor of her. Kings didn't ask, they commanded!
"The youth has sterling qualities and excellent breeding, but is extremely
awkward with women. It would be good for him to be seen with one as beautiful
as you."
He was complimenting her! This great man. "I -- of course, Your Majesty.
But how -- ?"
"I will introduce him to you. He has a club foot."
It came together. "His foot -- my hand -- "
"Neither infirmity reflects any defect in character or accomplishment.
But I think you could reassure him. Other women have mocked him; therefore he

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is shy."
"Yes," she agreed, on more than one level.
"I must return to council. You may accompany me." He held out his arm.
Surprised again, she obliged, putting her right hand in the crook of his
elbow. They left the dancing chamber and walked through the halls. A number of
courtiers followed; it seemed that the king never went anywhere alone. She
felt like a princess. Was this the way Wildflower felt, when she visited her
home court?
At the council hall there was already a group of people. It was a chamber of
considerable size, with many ladies in attendance, each finely garbed. Lynne
realized that they must be the wives or girlfriends of the nobles, having no
part in governance, but there for decorative purpose. All eyes seemed to fix
on Lynne as she entered on the arm of the king. But by this time she was
largely inured to embarrassment. She thought she should let go of
Louis's arm, but wasn't sure, so she held on, trusting that he would tell her

when.
Louis greeted several courtiers by name. Lynne heard the names, but they meant
nothing to her. Until they stood before a stout, bejeweled man with a young
man at his side. The young man seemed ill at ease.
"And this is Lynne, who will be traveling to New France with Captain
Ittai," Louis said, straightening his elbow so that her hand slid down and
away. "Lynne, this is Jacques."
This was the one! Lynne smiled at the youth. "Hello." It seemed inadequate,
but was all she could think of.
"Tonight at the ball, perhaps you will dance with her," the king said to
Jacques. His tone was polite, but Lynne realized that it was an order. She saw
both the elder man and the younger one stiffen, almost imperceptibly; they
thought the king was trying to embarrass them. She was suddenly glad that
Louis had forbidden the practice of dueling, because otherwise someone might
have had such a notion. But she was learning the way of court intrigue, and
allowed none of her thoughts to cross her face. She just made sure she would
recognize Jacques when she saw him next time.
Then the king turned away, leaving Lynne standing there before the angry
courtier and his son. She had no idea what to do, so stepped back, hoping to
get out of sight.
The attention of the room followed the king, so in a moment Lynne was suitably
anonymous. The king took his seat, and the courtiers began a discussion of a
technical matter of governance that was beyond Lynne's comprehension. Oh, she
could have followed it if she had cared to put her mind to it, but what was
the point? So she let it slide by her. Pierre Boucher was part of the group,
as was Captain Ittai; they were surely waiting their turn for the king's
attention. The ladies around the chamber began to converse with each other,
quietly, so as not to interrupt the main business. Every so often one would
turn an appraising glance in Lynne's direction. They were discreet, but she
felt naked. Could she return to the dance class? She was afraid it might be a
breach of court etiquette to depart after the king had brought her here.
"So the king threatens to humiliate the opposition's clumsy son," a lady
murmured loud enough to be heard. "By having a foreign darling do it."
Lynne suffered a flash of utter rage. The tone and the implication were as
clear as the words. She was being damned along with Jacques. In that moment
she resolved to see that the youth suffered no shame at all because of her. In
fact, in a perverse wash of feeling, she suddenly liked Jacques, because of
what she knew he was suffering at the court. How well she understood that sort
of prejudice! Just because a person had some physical infirmity --
Then Hugh and Annette appeared, and Jessamine, so it seemed the dance class
was over. Lynne walked across the chamber to join them, relieved to find
familiar faces.
But before they could settle into the background, a child entered the chamber.

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It was a girl, perhaps five years old, well dressed; she was probably the
daughter of a noble who had lost track of her mother. She carried a small
piece of parchment.
The eyes of the ladies of the court turned to this new arrival. Lynne saw more
than one pair of eyes roll expressively; it seemed this child was mischief.
But no one went to take the child in hand, to usher her out, which indicated
that she was of royal birth.
The girl oriented on Hugh. "There you are, musician!" she exclaimed happily as
she dashed up to him. "I have composed a melody. Play it for me!"
The bright, high voice cut through the murmur of the court. Now all the ladies
were watching, some with masked smirks, enjoying the royal embarrassment. The
king himself paused, glancing toward the sound. Lynne saw a fleeting frown
cross his face; evidently he, too, recognized the child.

Hugh hesitated, then glanced at Louis. The king made a tiny nod. So Hugh took
the parchment, read it, and smiled. "Of course," he said. He gave the
parchment to Annette, and lifted his flute as the child waited expectantly.
The melody was simple, brief, and rather crude, as might be expected from a
child. The masks were coming off the smirks; someone's parents were being
royally embarrassed. Lynne saw the king frown again; apparently the
embarrassment attached to him, too, peripherally. Maybe this was one of his
love-children. Maybe this awkwardness would somehow solidify the opposition to
the New France petition. Lynne wished she could do something, but she had no
idea what.
Hugh paused, then spoke. "But this is only the theme," he said. "Now we must
embellish it."
He played again. This time the melody was recognizable, but there were added
notes that filled it out, making it stronger and more consistent. The child
clapped her little hands, delighted. Hugh was an expert musician, and he was
making the melody into something significant.
In a moment that rendition, too, was done. But Hugh was not. "Now let's give
it full play," he said. "I think this is properly a dance piece."
He played the melody a third time, and now it had the sprightly cadence of a
dance. It was lovely, and it invited feet to move. The little girl began to
dance, in her fashion, enjoying it.
Annette joined her, smiling, doing a variant of the minuet. Suddenly what had
been, perhaps, a joke became lovely: the woman and the girl stepping around
each other in the stately manner of the dance.
Lynne saw Louis nod appreciatively. The embarrassment of the situation was
fading, thanks to the courtesy of the musician and the dancer.
Lynne had a sudden notion. She crossed the chamber to approach the club-
footed youth. "Dance with me, Jacques," she said, flashing him a winning
smile.
He looked like a trapped animal. "You mock me!" he muttered.
He didn't know. "No. Let me show you something." She caught his left hand with
her right, and drew the sullen youth to an alcove. Sheltered by that, she had
him face toward the wall beside her. Then she drew off the specially tailored
five-fingered glove on her left hand. It was cunningly designed to mask the
extra breadth of one of the fingers, so that two of hers could fit within it.
"Believe me, I wouldn't mock you," she said, wiggling her fingers. "Please do
not tell."
He stared. "But you're so pretty!" he protested.
"And you are handsome. Come -- the dance is simple, and you will not have to
move much. I know you can do it." She pulled her glove back on and drew him
from the alcove.
He seemed dazed. Then he took her hand. "Very small steps, slow," she said.
"Then turn me." She lifted his hand and turned under it.
He nodded. He could do it, and the smallness of the motions masked his
incapacity of the foot. He understood how to dance, and adapted readily to

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this variation. All he needed was a supportive partner.
They moved out on to the main floor, dancing with increasing competence.
Lynne saw that courtiers and ladies alike were staring, astonished by this
sight. "They think I showed you something else," she said, giggling.
Jacques laughed. "I won't tell."
Now others were joining the dance, somewhat in the manner of the dancing
class. Lynne realized that Louis himself had left the meeting and chosen a
partner; that was why everyone was suddenly doing it. What had been an
embarrassment had become an occasion.
Then, after a glance from the king, Hugh brought the music to a halt.
"Delightful piece," Louis said. "You must play it at the ball tonight." He
glanced at the child. "And you must go tell your mother how well you have done

as a composer."
The child ran off. The king turned back to the meeting. The interruption was
done.
But Lynne remained with Jacques. "You did beautifully," she said.
"I did, didn't I!" he agreed, amazed. "Because of you."
"The king said you were a good man."
"The king is just trying to get support for the New France project."
"Yes, of course. That's why he introduced me to you."
"And now you will go there, and I will never see you again."
She glanced at him. "Would you like to see me again?"
"Yes. You understand."
"I understand," she agreed. "Could you come too?"
He was surprised. "To New France? How could I?"
"It is a hard trip of three or four months across the sea, and a difficult,
frontier life, with many dangers," she said. "But a man can use an axe, or a
gun, or a spade. I understand there is a fortune to be made in the fur trade.
He doesn't have to run or dance."
He considered, amazed at the prospect. "With you?"
"Well, I hardly know you," she demurred. "But why don't we get better
acquainted, and see?"
Then she leaned forward and kissed him, lightly. She had a feeling that this
would work out.
Louis XIV authorized 100 troops and 200 indentured laborers to join
Boucher on his return trip to Quebec in 1662. This was small, but represented
a compromise with the conflicting forces of the court. Though the fortune of
France in the New World was less than that of England and Spain, the French
presence in Quebec remains significant today, and French is one of the
official languages of the region.
The little dance, the minuet, became quite popular in all the courts of
Europe, and remains a staple of the dance form today.
Chapter 18 -- MAGINOT
World War I devastated Europe. France suffered horrible casualties: 73
percent of her total forces mobilized, including almost two million men dead
or missing. France was on the winning side, but it was a Pyrrhic victory;
another such victory would finish her as a nation. Yet another such war was
already threatening, as Nazi Germany gained strength and brutality. With
manpower at a premium, France's military strategists turned away from the idea
of aggressive response and counterattack. They believed that the key to
national defense should be a heavily fortified border, and "battlefields
prepared in peacetime." The French experience with Verdun in World War I had
satisfied the leaders that a strong line of trenches and permanent
fortifications could be defended indefinitely against any odds. They were, of
course, preparing to fight the last war again, a classic error of the military
mind. But it did seem to be the best choice at the time. Thus they built the
Maginot Line.
Actually the Maginot Line could have served its purpose well, had it been

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fully implemented. But as with the Chinese Wall, its builders suffered from
insufficient funds, and politics got in the way. For example, it covered the
border France had with Germany, but was not extended to the sea, because
Belgium was an ally, with its own defensive line, and it would not look good
to build such fortifications along that border. Besides, they decided, the
forested Ardennes region through which German forces would have to pass was
virtually impenetrable. A few blockhouses and some ready forces would pinch

off any invaders as they emerged from the forests. In retrospect this was
sheer folly; the Germans simply forged through with tanks and aircraft, and
thus avoided the Maginot Line in much the manner the Mongols avoided the
Chinese Wall. But hindsight is a cheap shot; at the time it seemed reasonable.
At the time the line was designed, both armor and air force were considered to
be curiosities rather than strategic weapons. No country in the world had
formed an armored brigade or an offensively effective air force. Even so, had
the line been completed as originally envisioned, it well might have repelled
the Germans, because their costs in penetrating it would have weakened them
too much for the conquest of the remainder of France. Actually they did
penetrate it -- but that was after its purpose had become moot because of the
Belgian bypass.
So what was the Maginot Line actually like? It was activated once, before the
war. In March 1936 Adolf Hitler moved German troops into the
Rhineland, violating the demilitarization of the region agreed by treaty.
France, in response, ordered a full mobilization of its defensive perimeter.
The Maginot Line was fully manned for the first time.
SAM WAS LOADING AMMUNITION ONTO a railroad car when he got the call.
"Sam -- your brother is on the phone."
That would be Ned. There were those who thought Sam should be resentful of the
fact that his little brother was an officer while he was an enlisted man, but
Sam could have been an officer if he wanted command. He preferred to exercise
his muscles and leave the management to others. Ned had the mind for tactics
and strategy, so was an officer. His only problem qualifying had been his
German wife, Wildflower, who the officials suspected was potentially disloyal.
But she had finally been cleared, and he was doing well. Sam was glad. After
all, his own wife, Snow, was Austrian. What counted was not a person's origin,
but her loyalty to family and nation.
He picked up the receiver. "Sam here."
"Ned. I have a problem. I brought Bry in to see his friend Jacques, but
there's a problem down the line and I have to investigate it. Can you take Bry
instead?"
"Bry shouldn't be here during an active alert!" Sam protested. "Don't you know
that? He's underage."
"Officer's prerogative. If it comes to war, we could have women and children
manning our bulwarks, so they had better be prepared. Bry's sixteen, old
enough to learn the way of it. But I have to go to a region not cleared for
civilians. So if you could take him on to Jacques -- "
Something was going on. Ned wouldn't have called him about a routine thing
that he could have assigned any private to do. "Where are you?"
"At the command post nearest your block. I'll wait for you."
"Yes, sir," Sam said, with the faintest edge. How could Ned have brought
Bry in during this activation, when there were bound to be emergencies?
He checked with his subaltern, who took his word; that was an advantage of
being reliable. If his brother the captain needed him, he was available.
He rode the ammunition train down the tunnel to the main depot, then reported
to the personnel section. There was Ned, quite striking in his uniform, and
his younger sibling.
Sam's face froze. It wasn't Bry -- it was Lynn! She had a heavy hat over her
bound hair, and wore male coveralls and shoes, but he had no problem
distinguishing his brothers from his sisters. Suddenly he knew why Ned had

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called him. If word got out that there was a girl here...
"Sam will get you there, Bry," Ned said. "I must be on my way." He nodded to
Sam, and walked away.
"Well, Bry," Sam said, slowly shaking his head. "How did you ever talk
Ned into this?"

"Wildflower did it," Lynn murmured.
Wildflower. Lynn's closest friend, more sister than sister-in-law. Ned had
taken time to notice her, thinking of her as a little sister, but once she had
succeeded in making an impression on him, her slightest wish had become his
command.
"And why did Wildflower do it?"
"I asked her." Then, before he could question that, she added, "I
haven't seen Jacques in two weeks."
Two weeks. And at her age, that was like two years. So, dying for romance, she
had prevailed on her brilliant but in some ways soft-headed brother to bring
her in to visit her boyfriend. New love was heedless of consequences. And now
Sam was stuck with this treacherous chore.
"Snow sends her love," Lynn added.
How could he be mad at her? Lynn had always had his number. She was such a
small, pretty thing, in such need of protection because of her hand, that they
all served her in their ways. She took advantage of that, and they all knew
it, but it remained almost impossible to say no to her. She had reminded him
of his own romance, kindled during a trip to Austria at the time when his
first marriage was breaking up. Second love had proved to be better than first
love. He didn't like being separated from Snow, but because she was his wife,
he did get leave time to be with her. Lynn and Jacques lacked that avenue,
being merely in love.
"This way," he said gruffly.
"Thank you, Sam." She wasn't fooled; she knew he was glad of her company
despite the circumstance. Family members always liked to be together, whatever
the circumstance; they watched out for each other.
Another ammunition train was going out. Sam waved to the diesel engineer, and
the man slowed the engine enough to let them hop on to a car.
Cooperation was essential, in order to get the confusions straightened and the
work done. Sam lifted Lynn up onto a rack of shells, then stood beside her.
"You're so strong," she said.
"And you're so light," he said. "Save your charm for Jacques. But make sure
you answer only to the name Bry."
She laughed. She was enjoying this adventure, heedless of the inconvenience to
others. She kicked her feet against the metal below her.
"I wouldn't," he said. "That's high explosive."
The feet stopped. "It must really be fun, here in these tunnels all day."
"It's dull." But now, seeing it through her eyes, he realized that the scene
was remarkable. The train was following its tracks down the lighted tunnel,
which was six meters high and seven meters wide, with a power line running
along its ceiling. The half-circle dome of concrete was bleak and dirty, but
for a young person, surely thrilling.
"Ooooh -- a turnoff!" she exclaimed.
"That leads to the main magazine of the ouvrage, the main fort," Sam
explained. "But this load is going farther down the line."
"How deep down are we?"
"About fifty meters."
She laughed. "Fancy a whole train going through the ground!"
"It's to ensure that German bombs can't interfere with our communications."
The tunnel narrowed. "Are we there?"
"No, just passing through a section where the tunnel can be closed off by a
seventeen ton blast door."
"Ooooh," she repeated, suitably awed.

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Beyond the narrowing, the tunnels split again. "That goes to the barracks,"
Sam explained. "But we have to go on to Jacques's block, some

distance down the line. He is stationed at one of the smaller casemates."
"Jacques," she breathed, her eyes shining.
Sam thought again of Snow. How could be begrudge that delight to his little
sister?
The train slowed. It was reaching its exit to the surface. "We'll have to get
off here," Sam said. "And walk on down. It's not far."
He helped her down to the base of the car. Then as the train emerged into the
light of day, they both jumped off. Sam waved to the engineer as the engine
disappeared into the landscape.
"There's an incomplete shunt going in that direction," Sam said. "We can
follow that a way, if you like the tunnels."
"I love them. Besides, it's cold out here in the wind."
So they turned back into the tunnel, and took the turnoff that led in the
right direction. The isolated casemates were not connected in the way the
major forts were; there was simply too much terrain to cover. Sam would have
liked to show off one of the cannons that could rise to the surface to fire,
and descend into the depths at other times, but the authorities would never
allow such a breach of security.
They moved on down the passage. Lynn walked along a rail, spreading her arms
for balance. She got little joys from everything.
"By the way, Hugh knows Guillaume," she remarked.
Sam was lost by this non sequitur. "Who knows whom?"
"Hugh, the musician with the lovely dancing wife." She paused, giving
Sam time to make the connection. He did remember that wife. "He knows
Guillaume -- Jacques's commanding officer. That's how Ned got clearance for
Bry's visit to the block."
"But what about a girl?"
"That would be more complicated."
To be sure.
Then they came to another turnoff. "What a labyrinth!" Lynn remarked, loving
it.
"It's less complicated than it seems. The tunnels connect the magazines where
the ammunition is stored, the main barracks, the cannons -- "
"It's still fun to explore."
They followed the tracks through an airlock. It was open at the moment, but
the massive panels could be seen. "That's so that nothing can get at the
defenders," Sam explained. "Especially not poison gas."
"Poison gas! Would they do that?"
"They might. We can't presume too much on the good graces of an enemy."
Then they came to a region where water dripped from the ceiling. "This
shouldn't be," Sam said, disgusted. "How can it be airtight, if it's not
watertight?"
"Somebody's going to get in trouble!" Lynn said in a naughty sing-song.
"No, we'll just have to get it fixed. Meanwhile, this is our only way through.
We'll just have to avoid the drips."
But the drips got worse. At one point there was a veritable sheet of water
coming down, and the floor of the tunnel was flooding. Sam tramped through,
his boots protecting his feet. But Lynn, walking on the rail, lost her balance
and fell full length into a puddle. There was a great splash.
Sam leaped to help her. "Are you hurt? Oh, Lynn -- "
"Bry," she said wryly. "No, I'm all right. The water cushioned my fall.
But I'm all wet."
"We'll have to get you changed. It's cold in here."
"I know." She was turning blue.
"The block barracks is right ahead. They'll have clothing."
"Sam." Her tone made him stop. "I can't change here."

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Oh. Of course. She would be revealed as a girl.

Sam pondered, but couldn't think of an alternative. "You need to strip, to get
dry, and put on new clothes. And get warm. I might bring some clothing out
here, but -- "
"Someone might come," she agreed. "I guess I better not change."
But her teeth were chattering. If she caught cold, and it led to pneumonia,
and -- what would Flo say? "We must get you warm," he said.
"No, I'll get by. It's my own fault. I shouldn't have come."
How could he blame her, when she blamed herself? "Come on. There has to be a
way."
"Let's just hurry there."
They climbed endless stairs to the surface, where a guard checked Sam's
credentials and let them out. Now they were beside an ordinary road, with a
path leading through hills to the rear of an almost buried bunker. Sam wished
their destination were closer, but at least the fast walk helped warm her.
He led her the rest of the way to the casemate, which was the combat block
where Jacques was stationed. It had fifteen men and a lieutenant, with barely
room for them and the supplies. They entered it from behind. Sam had to get
permission to enter from the officer in charge before a metal grate dropped
across a deep ditch and the armored door opened to admit them.
Sam saluted. "Sam and Bry reporting, sir."
"This is highly irregular," the lieutenant said, returning the salute.
"We are on alert; no visitors are permitted."
But he had admitted them. "The musician sends his appreciation," Sam murmured.
The lieutenant nodded curtly. Evidently he was repaying a favor, but was not
completely comfortable with the matter. Then he saw Lynn. "But the boy's
soaking wet!"
"There is a leak in the transport tunnel," Sam said. "We must notify the
command post."
"We already have. They say they will get to it in due course." The lieutenant
grimaced. "It seems that there are many such leaks. No one noticed, until the
alert came." He looked again at Lynn. "He is shivering and blue; he must be
changed immediately."
"He -- prefers not," Sam said. "He has no other clothes."
"We have supplies. I will have a man attend to it." The lieutenant turned,
about to give an order.
"Please, sir, no," Sam said quickly.
The man frowned. Officers did not like hearing the word "no" from enlisted
personnel. "No?"
Sam wished he had Ned's ready mind. He couldn't think of a suitable
explanation. "He -- he is uncomfortable changing in the presence of others."
"But he will have to. We have no privacy here, no spare space at all."
"Still, sir," Sam said awkwardly.
The lieutenant's eyes narrowed. "What are you concealing?" Then, as Sam
hesitated: "That is an order, sergeant."
Worse and worse! But what could he do? Sam leaned forward and whispered, "He's
a girl. Lynn. Bry's sister."
The lieutenant's look of astonishment was abruptly replaced by a cold mask.
"Come with me." He made a military turn and descended a curving flight of
steps.
They followed him to the basement, where the troops bunked. The lieutenant led
them into his tiny separate room and closed the door.
"Explain."
Sam looked helplessly at Lynn.
"I just had to see Jacques," she said. "I love him! I didn't know I was going
to get wet." Her face was wet with more than the puddle; she was crying.
The lieutenant reacted in the classic French manner. "Ah, love." He

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faced Sam. "I will fix this. But there will be no word of it outside."
"No word," Sam agreed. No one wanted a scandal, least of all the officer who
would be held responsible.
The lieutenant spoke into his phone. "Jacques -- bring a complete change of
clothing to the CO's room. Small size."
"Jacques!" Lynn echoed, brightening.
In a moment there was a knock on the door. The lieutenant opened it. A
smartly uniformed young man was there. "Jacques, you will have precisely ten
minutes to handle this matter in complete privacy before we return." Then he
stepped out, his eyes signaling Sam to follow.
Jacques looked confused. Then he saw Lynn. "Yes sir!"
Sam exited, and Jacques entered, limping, and the lieutenant closed the door
behind them. "Perhaps you can return with a personal report, possibly
eliciting some action on the flooding tunnel," the lieutenant said, showing
the way into the adjacent barracks, where several soldiers were sleeping.
Because the block had to be vigilant twenty-four hours a day, the troops
worked in three shifts. One soldier was awake, but studiously ignored them;
Sam suspected that standing orders were to pay no attention to the commanding
officer unless he asked for it. "It isn't simply the leaks; supplies are
incomplete, so that we could withstand a genuine siege of only a few days. Our
block is inadequately heated, as your little brother has noted. Lighting is
sparse, and no provision has been made for decoration." He gestured at the
triple-decker metal frame that held fifteen bunks. "No paint on ceiling or
walls, no pictures, no decent floor covering. No privacy. This is bleak
indeed. We are patriotic, but I believe we are entitled to at least minimal
amenities while we serve our country."
"Yes sir," Sam said with feeling. "I will tell them."
"And Hugh -- you have seen him recently?"
"Actually, Bry is the one of us who knows him best. Bry stayed with their
family for some time, when he was young. But I think I would know Anne
anywhere, by Bry's description."
"You would," the lieutenant agreed. "It has been some time for me also.
We were neighbors, and our children mingled. Perhaps we shall meet again, in
due course."
"I think Bry was somewhat smitten with her, though he was only eleven at the
time."
"She is that type of woman. And her daughter Mina is even more so, despite
being adopted. A truly winsome girl."
Sam had not met the lieutenant before, but found himself liking the man.
There was a certain aura of intelligence about him that Ned would have related
to.
"And I understand that in addition to your brother Bry, you also have a little
sister, said to be a similarly lovely creature," the lieutenant continued
after a moment. He spoke obliquely, because they could be overheard.
"Yes."
"Understand, I have no wish to intrude on the affairs of your family.
But my men are a personal concern to me, and I wish to see none of them hurt,
other than in the line of duty." He smiled briefly, indicating the fleeting
humor; of course he didn't want anyone hurt in the line of duty either. "This
little sister has an interest in someone?"
"Yes."
"Even if someone has an infirmity?"
"Yes."
"Not just because he is the son of a general?"
"No. She understands. She has her own infirmity."
"I am glad to hear it, no offense intended."
"I am glad you have an interest in the welfare of your men, sir."

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The lieutenant shrugged. "I have an interest in surviving an attack.
Every man must be at optimum performance. The Germans are devising horrors we
little anticipate."
"My brother Ned believes that we are preparing to fight the last war, while
the Germans are preparing for the next war."
"Precisely. Therefore I hope it never comes to war." In ten minutes they
returned to the lieutenant's office.
Lynn had changed, and was now in a baggy but dry uniform, seeming happy.
She looked like a twelve year old boy rather than a sixteen year old girl.
"Now that your friend has taken so much trouble to visit you, Jacques, why
don't you give him a tour of the block?" the lieutenant inquired. "Let's see
how much you really know of our business."
"Yes, sir!" Jacques agreed eagerly. "But my station -- "
"I will cover for you. I could use the practice."
"Yes, sir," Jacques repeated. Then, to Lynn, "I will show you everything."
"I suppose that's fair," the lieutenant murmured so that only Sam could hear.
"He has already seen everything his friend possesses."
Sam had to smile. Lynn was a beautiful girl, with one exception, and in the
course of changing and drying she had surely showed all of it off.
They went to the firing chamber on the upper floor. This was right above the
crew room. A soldier stood there with a two barrel machine gun pointing out an
armored window. Sam saw that he had a good view of the terrain outside;
he would be able to riddle anything approaching on this side of the block.
Except a tank.
"I read your thought, sergeant." The lieutenant spoke to the man. "I am
substituting for Jacques at the moment. What would we do if we saw a tank
charging us?"
The man immediately swung his machine gun away to the right, clearing the
window. Meanwhile the lieutenant unstrapped and pushed forward a larger gun
suspended from a rail on the ceiling. "This is our forty-seven millimeter
anti-tank gun," he said, looking along its sights. "I think it would be a bold
tank that charged directly into this field of fire."
Sam had to agree. Tanks were deadly, but the gun was designed to take them
out.
Jacques and Lynn appeared. "And this is my station," the young man said.
"We have a twin machine gun, which is our main anti-personnel weapon, and an
anti-tank gun. So if the enemy tries to flank us, avoiding our weapons
turrets, we can mow him down. No one will get past this post."
The lieutenant turned to Sam. "Makes it all seem worthwhile, doesn't it," he
remarked wryly.
Sam had to agree. "But my brother Ned wonders what will happen if the enemy
goes around the line."
The lieutenant nodded soberly. "I hope your brother has the ear of the higher
authorities. We shall do our part, here, but will they do theirs?"
The question gave Sam a chill, as it always did.
Indeed, the French were completely unready for the German blitzkrieg in
1939, the highly mobile tactics that bypassed the Maginot Line with its
underground cannon, formidable anti-aircraft guns, and well secured bunkers.
The German forces came through the supposedly impenetrable Belgian forest and
spread out too rapidly to stop. France was effectively conquered in days, the
Maginot Line largely untouched. It is now thought of as folly, but it would
have served well enough if made complete.
Later, of course, weapons like the atomic bomb made all such defenses
obsolete. But for its time, the Maginot Line concept was worthwhile as a stop-
gap measure. It was the implementation that was inadequate.

Chapter 19 -- DREAMS AND BONES
As population increased, and resources decreased, the squeeze affected human
societies in at first subtle, then more obvious ways. The third world nations

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suffered waves of starvation and illness; the first world nations suffered
financial and economic disruptions. Politics became turbulent, and elections
were supplemented by assassinations. The hearts of the cities became arenas
for increasingly random violence by ever-younger gangs. It was clear to some
that the end of the current way of life was approaching, but the majority
refused to recognize the deadly underlying trends. What, then, were those few
to do? The setting is eastern America; the time is 1995.
"LOOK AT THAT," BRY SAID. "They've got that new game on CD. Let's get it."
"No you don't," Lin protested. "We've got a budget."
"I'll buy it," Jack offered.
Now Bry backed off. "No. She's right. We don't need to sponge off you."
"Wildflower's at the checkout," Lin said.
They walked to join her, and Bry took the bag as she cleared the cash
register. They went out of the store and out of the mall, walking home at a
leisurely pace so as not to embarrass Jack. It was a nice summer afternoon in
Washington, D.C.
But as they neared the housing project, a group of youths appeared.
"Hey, bitch!" one yelled at Wildflower. "You trying to play white?"
Bry felt a chill. The gangs were getting worse. They were ranging out farther,
and looking more constantly for trouble. These boys evidently took
Wildflower for black, and wanted to make something of it. She was a Moslem
from Egypt, and her skin was darker than some. So the gang was trying to
reserve this territory for whites only.
"Just keep moving," Bry said. "Maybe they're just passing by."
"Routine insults," Lin agreed. "But we'd better hurry, just in case."
But when they picked up their speed, Jack's limp showed. The gang members
turned to follow. "Hey, gimpy -- what you want with that black slut?
How much you paying her?"
"Don't respond," Bry advised. "Just keep walking."
But it did no good. With two targets, the gang kids had enough to interest
them for a while. They followed more closely, hooting, and some ran ahead to
block off the entrance to the project. "Hey, doll!" one called to
Lin. "Wanna make it with a real man?" He was evidently the leader, though he
could not be more than sixteen.
They came to the intersection and tried to make the turn, but the gang kids
stood squarely in the way. "Pay the toll, troll," one said, reaching for the
bag Bry carried.
Jack stepped across and knocked the hand away. The four of them shoved
forward, brushing by the kids, entering the street leading into the project.
"Oh, gimpy's tough!" one cried mockingly. "I'm scared!" Then he drew a knife.
All around them knives appeared.
It could be worse, Bry realized. Guns were increasingly common on the street.
The main advantage of knives was their silence, but it was getting so that
juvenile thugs no longer cared about noise.
"Run for it!" Lin cried.
They tried, but immediately two gang kids went after Lin, catching her by the
arms. The others closed on the other three, their knives held forward
menacingly. "You ain't going nowhere, you turds," the leader said. "You wanna

get cut?"
They had to stop. Even if the other three made it to the project, Lin was
caught and would pay the price. Bry noted that the inexperience of this gang
was showing; many of the pejorative terms used were childish rather than
savage. There was about as much bluster as action. That made it worse; if
amateurs were getting this bad, what were the hardened professional gangs up
to?
"That's better," the leader said, enjoying his power over them. "Okay, black
bitch, you first: take it off."
Bry realized that there was a protocol: humiliate the black woman first, while

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the others watched. To send the message: stay out of white territory.
They might not be able to justify raping a pretty white girl, but a black one
was fair game.
"No!" Lin cried.
"Make her scream," the leader said without turning.
One of the kids holding Lin twisted her arm. She screamed.
Wildflower flinched. She knew what rape was like. She didn't want Lin to
suffer it. She started to take off her clothes.
"Hey, hey!" the boys said, smiling. They had seen that Wildflower had a nice
figure; now they were eager to confirm its details, feeling very naughty.
They were nevertheless working themselves up, and some of them would indeed
try to complete the rape.
Bry looked desperately around, but there were no police near, and no one else
was coming to their rescue. That was par for the course, at night. Now it was
happening in broad daylight. What could they do? Even without the knives, the
four of them would have been no match for the gang. Jack had a bad foot, Bry
was holding the bag, and the two girls couldn't fight.
Wildflower pulled off her red blouse, standing in skirt and bra. At age
eighteen, she was a fine figure of a woman. "Yeah, yeah!" the kids agreed,
ogling. They were young enough not to have had much actual sexual experience.
They would have seen pornographic videos galore, but reality was much more
compelling.
Wildflower waved the blouse over her head, like a flag. "More, more!"
the boys cried gleefully.
There was the whistle of a bullet, followed by the sound of a shot from the
project. The boys wheeled to look -- and another bullet struck the road almost
at their feet.
"Another time, bitch!" the leader cried as the gang members fled.
"You signaled Jes!" Lin exclaimed, catching on.
Wildflower nodded as she pulled her blouse back on. Then the four of them
resumed their walk to the project.
Flo met them at the door. She was grim. "If I hadn't heard you scream --
"
"And if Jes wasn't a dead shot with that rifle," Lin said, relieved.
"You did nothing to provoke them?"
"We were just walking. But they didn't like Wildflower's color."
Jes appeared, carrying her baby. She had fired from the upstairs window.
The sound of the shots must have awakened the baby. But she had done what she
had to do.
That night, when the men were home, they had a family meeting. "We can't have
this," Ned declared, furious because of the threat to his wife.
"We can't afford better housing," Flo reminded him. "Anyway, the trouble is
spreading to the 'good' neighborhoods now. The city isn't safe. Soon no city
will be safe."
"And no town," Dirk added. "Violence isn't just for ghettoes any more."
"Where else can we go?" Snow asked. She was foreign-born, like
Wildflower, and was having trouble finding work.

"I saw something," Bry said, remembering. "An ad. Maybe it's for us." He
dashed to find the newspaper, searching out the section. "Here." He gave it to
Flo.
" 'Planned community looking for skilled personnel in the following
occupations,' " she read. Her eyes skimmed across the listing. " 'CAD --
Computer Aided Design.' " She looked up. "That's you, Ned." She returned to
the list. " 'Heavy construction.' That's you, Sam. 'Project organizer.' That's
you, Ittai. 'Large-scale cook.' "
"That's you!" several others cried, laughing.
"What's the small print?" Ned asked.
"There isn't any," Flo said. "There's only a blind box."

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"A what?" Sam asked.
Flo smiled, briefly. "Sam, your age is showing. It's a newspaper box,
protecting the anonymity of the advertising party. There's no way to find out
who is behind it except by answering."
Snow was interested. "But suppose you are looking for another job, and the ad
is by your present employer? You could get fired, because -- "
"Then you list a 'destroy' address: if your response is headed for the named
company, destroy it instead of delivering it. You can list any number of such
addresses, to avoid past and present employers, estranged spouses, aggressive
creditors, government agencies -- "
"Hey, neat!" Lin cried. "Let's list that juvenile street gang." But no one
laughed.
"So this is an essentially anonymous ad," Ned said. "With no indication of
rates of pay, location, working conditions, duration, or benefits."
"So maybe we'd better ask," Flo said. "We don't have to sign up for anything
we don't like. But we could certainly use some of these jobs, especially if
they are together."
"It does say 'planned community,' " Dirk said. "That suggests something out of
the city, with a lot of setting up to do. I rather like the notion, if it's
valid."
"There certainly isn't much to hold us in this city," Ned said, with a glance
at Wildflower.
"There isn't much in this culture to hold us," Ittai said grimly.
"Companies are downsizing, jobs are scarce, and the average wage earner is
making substantially less in real terms than he made twenty years ago, with no
sign of improvement in the future. The welfare roles are increasing, while
benefits are being cut. Things are worsening on every front. People are
getting mired in debt they can't escape."
"Company store," Ned said. "The pay is such, and the prices such, that most
folk can only sink lower. That's the beauty of it, by company logic: the
subtle creation of a virtual slave class, while the owners reap record
profits."
"St. Peter don't you call me, 'cause I can't go," Lin singsonged, echoing an
old song she had picked up in the schoolyard. "I owe my soul to the company
store."
Ittai nodded. "We do seem to be in a company store society. But I
suspect it's not as simple as a conspiracy by the haves to further deprive the
have-nots. The resources of the world are being depleted, and there simply is
not enough to go around. So everyone is scrambling for what remains, and an
increasing number are losing out."
"Musical chairs," Bry said. "There's always one chair too few, so someone
loses."
"A nice enough analogy," Ittai agreed. "I believe that when the livelihood of
families is strained, with both parents having to work outside the home, or
single-parent families with that parent working or forced onto welfare, the
children are inevitably neglected. They turn to their peer

groups, and we get street gangs. The next stage will be what we already see in
third world countries: mass starvation, food riots, class warfare, and
revolution that accomplishes little other than intensification of the misery."
"We have to get out of this game," Lin said. The others nodded soberly.
"So maybe this planned community has the same idea," Flo said. "Get out of the
city, get self-sufficient, get independent of the company store, have enough
chairs."
"It works for me," Lin said.
"So let's answer this ad," Flo said, looking around. No one objected.
Two weeks later they were on their way to Dreams, a planned community in
southern Pennsylvania, near the Maryland border. They drove in both their
vans, a convoy of two, watching out for each other in case one broke down. It

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was the family way. Counting the baby, the full family now numbered fifteen,
because Jack had elected to come along. It wasn't just that he was engaged to
Lin and wanted to be with her; he felt at home with a family that accepted him
without reservation. His family was wealthy, and Jack was prepared to be
generous with money, if asked. But he was never asked. So he lived as they
did, fitting in, and liked it.
Jack and Lin and Bry rode together in the rear seat, Lin in the middle, her
left hand holding Jack's right hand, their fingers interleaved so that hers
fell outside his on both sides, and her left foot touched his clubbed right
foot. Bry was privately jealous of their intimacy. It wasn't that Jack had
come between Bry and his sister, for he had not; it was that Bry lacked an
equivalent girlfriend. Someone beautiful but in some way tainted or marked. He
knew that a psychiatrist would consider his taste to be warped, but Bry
understood his own dream. Marked people could be like pearls among swine, real
bargains for those who looked.
In three hours they were in the Appalachians, looking for the turnoff to
Amaranth, a town so small that it wasn't on their roadmap. It was supposed to
be about ten miles north of the Potomac River's northernmost loop, where it
almost pinched off the western tip of Maryland. Then they explored the back
roads until at last they found the entrance to Dreams. The scenery was
phenomenal; this was true mountain country, largely forested, and barely
touched by the works of man.
An elder man came out to meet them as they climbed out and looked around.
"Greetings. You would be the visiting family?"
"We are," Flo said.
"I am Marc, with a c. I am one of the elders of the community. We have a house
for you, but regret that it is as yet unfinished."
"I'm sure we'll make do," Flo said. "Where do we check in?"
"There is no checking in as such. You will introduce yourselves at the evening
meal, and any community members you meet will introduce themselves to you,
until you know them. I will conduct you to the various working sites. I
think you will know soon enough whether these are compatible, and we shall
come to know you too."
"So we'll know whether we really want to join Dreams," Flo agreed. "But we'd
like to learn more of the community philosophy and outlook."
"There are informal community meetings every evening, where discussion and
group activities occur."
"Well, that's fine. But I understand that this is a religious community.
We aren't sure that we -- "
"The project is founded and funded by volunteers associated with the
Religious Society of Friends, commonly called Quakers, in conjunction with the
American Friends Service Committee, or AFSC, a globally charitable
organization. So we do have weekly Meetings. But attendance is not mandatory,
and we don't require that others join. But I must advise you that pacifism is

a tenet of our religion, and those who profess or practice violence will not
be welcome here. This is something you will have to judge as you work with us.
We are short-handed because others have found this aspect unsuitable. We do
not require that you adopt pacifism as a philosophy, just that you practice no
violence of word or action on these, our premises. Similarly, no flesh of
animals is served here; you will have to seek that elsewhere."
"Understood," Flo said for all of them. "We will behave appropriately while
here. So you don't have a problem with, for example, non-Christians. Ned and
Wildflower are Moslem."
"As long as they do not proselytize. We encourage discussion of religion in
all its forms, and they are welcome to clarify their belief for us, but we
frown on efforts to convert. We will not try to convert you."
"Fair enough," Ned said.
"However, those of you who elect to remain with us will be expected to convert

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to the extent of becoming familiar with our essential philosophy, and
supporting it. We would ask, for example, that the young lady refrain from
wearing a weapon while in the community."
Jes nodded. "What about during this trial period?"
"Thee is free to do as thee wishes, as thee is uncommitted."
All of them were startled. "Thee?" Jes asked.
Marc smiled. "I apologize for not clarifying this earlier. We who are
committed tend to use the plain talk, which derives from the manner the
Quakers -- that is, the Religious Society of Friends -- spoke in an earlier
age. It fell gradually out of favor in recent times, but we regard Dreams as a
new beginning, and so the use of plain talk seems appropriate. This
affectation is not required of thee."
"But you weren't doing it before."
"Second person singular is 'thee.' Second person plural is 'you.' I was
addressing the group of you before, not thee personally."
"Oh." Jes was evidently intrigued, as were the rest of them.
They trouped to the house, which turned out to be of the modern log cabin
type, a sturdy and large two story structure with a number of rooms, but
unfinished inside. "There has been so much to do, that this lacked priority,"
Marc explained. "We hope that in winter, when outdoor work -- gardening, and
so on -- is not feasible, we will be able to catch up on interior work."
"It will do," Flo said. "Those of us with skills for you will see to those
now; the others can unload the cars and set up the house." She looked around.
"Snow and I will head for your kitchen. Ned and Bry will go to your computer
designing facility. Ittai will go to your organizing section. And Sam will
help with your brute work."
Soon Ned and Bry were in the Dreams computer room, adjacent to the machine
shop. A man looked up from the computer. "These are Ned and Bry, our
visitors," Marc said. Then he left.
The man stood and came over to shake hands. "Bill. Does thee know CAD?"
"Yes," Ned said. "But not necessarily your particular program."
"It varies. How is thee on the Stirling engine?"
"Archaic external combustion engine," Ned said. "Intriguing, but it lost out
to the internal combustion engine because of the problem with bearings and low
mechanical efficiency."
"Suppose it could be hermetically sealed, with no external piston?"
"That would solve one problem, but generate several others. Such as how to
make it perform work."
"Let me introduce thee to the Solar Stirling engine, which we propose to use
for generating electricity."
"Solar! For electricity! That would do it. But the technology -- "
"Can be tricky in detail. Right this way."
In the shop was a squat device somewhat like a bomb, Bry tried to look

interested, but engines weren't his specialty, and this one seemed
comprehensible only to Bill and Ned. It didn't even seem to have any moving
parts.
Bill glanced at him. "This must be pretty dull for thee, Bry. Why don't thee
go on out back and ask my daughter Faience to show thee around? It may be
hours before we're back on the computer."
"Okay," Bry agreed gratefully. He went out in the indicated direction.
There was a girl of about fourteen working on basket weaving. There were
mounds of fibrous material around. She looked up as Bry approached. "Hello.
I'm Faience."
"I'm Bry. My family just arrived for a trial visit. Your father said you might
show me around."
"Glad to, unless you'd rather learn basket weaving."
"No, computer games are more my style."
"Mine too. But we have to wait for off hours. Thou shalt not waste prime

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computer time, and all that." She put aside her materials and stood up. She
was a plain girl with freckles, but seemed pleasant. "Right," she said as if
reading his mind. "I'm not much to look at, but I've got personality. Or
something."
"I didn't say -- "
"You didn't have to. Come on. I'll show you the pump. You know what a
hydraulic ram is?"
"Either an animal or a machine, I think."
She laughed. "Right! Do you like to run?"
"For about a hundred yards."
"Then follow me." She set off across the field at a run, her shortish hair
fluffing out. She was lean, and ran well; it was a job to catch up with her,
and then he was out of breath.
She slowed somewhat. "Sorry, didn't mean to tease you. I just love it out here
so well I can't help myself."
"I just wanted to stay behind to watch your jeans," he panted.
She laughed again. "That's a lie I can live with." She slowed to a walk.
"But I wasn't -- "
She turned to face him. "Don't lie for real. That would ruin our friendship,
and it has hardly begun. No one considers me romantic; I'm too young and too
plain. But I do make a good friend."
"Okay. I'm new here, and I don't know if we'll stay more than a month. I
could use a friend for that month."
"Done! Do you like movies?"
"Yes."
"We can get a ride into Hagerstown tomorrow and see one. I like company when I
leave Dreams."
"But don't we have to work? I understood that in a planned community,
everybody has his job."
"That's true. But tomorrow's Saturday. We work during the week, we attend
Meeting on Sunday and relax in quiet, cultural, or educational ways.
Oh, it's not bad, and I do like the folk singing, but Saturday's my chance to
be a regular irresponsible teen. Do you have any sisters?"
"Three. The elder two are married, but Lin's my age and she still likes
movies. Maybe she and Jack will join us. Jack's her boyfriend; they're pretty
serious."
"Great!" They were now descending a steep forested slope, following a pipe
that made a knocking sound every second.
"Um, Faience, if I may ask -- I notice you don't use the plain talk."
"Well, that depends. Mom and Dad do, in the community, but not outside.
I'm just here because they are; I'm not committed on my own. So Bille --
that's my brother -- and I figure it would be, well, not exactly a lie, but

misleading to use it, until such time as we are committed on our own. But when
someone uses it to me, I do tend to respond in kind. It's no big deal."
"So if I said thee to you, you would say thee to me."
"Yeah," she said, smiling. "I would say thee to thee."
"Something else: Marc said that no meat is served here. Why is that?
Because they consider it violent?"
"Not exactly. It's that it takes something like twenty pounds of grain to make
one pound of meat, when you run it through the animal first. So it's
inefficient. If things get tight, and people get hungry, our gardens will go
twenty times as far if we cut out the middleman, as it were."
"I guess that makes sense. But don't you have animals here?"
"Oh, sure, lots of them. We believe in biodiversity. But not for meat."
"Suppose an animal dies coincidentally? Would that be eaten?"
Faience made a face. "Would you want to eat your pet dog? We have pet llamas.
But I guess they would be eaten, yes, if not diseased."
They came to the bottom of the hill, where there was a stream.

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"This is the hydraulic ram," Faience said, indicating a round tank sitting on
top of the pipe. The knocking sound was loud.
"Where's the motor?"
"This is the motor. It's like this: Water comes down this pipe in the stream.
The valve in the end of it lets out some water, but that motion makes the
valve slam shut. That's why it knocks. Then the valve opens again, and lets a
bit more water out, until it slams shut again."
"But that's not a motor!"
"Yes it is, in its fashion. See this connecting pipe? There's a valve inside
that. When the first valve knocks closed, the water moving inside comes to a
sudden stop, and the pressure jumps. That forces some water up through the
inside valve. The air tank is to ease the shock, so it doesn't pound itself
apart. That water keeps nudging into the pipe and on up the hill. It's slow
but sure, and it uses no external energy, and it pumps all the water we need."
"With no fuel?" Bry asked, surprised. "Free pumping?"
"Free pumping," she agreed. "That's sort of our philosophy: renewable energy,
environmentally friendly, durable, cheap. All our machines are like that,
except maybe the computers. But they help too, really, because with things
like E-mail and the Internet folks don't have to waste so much energy
commuting to work."
Bry was impressed. "The water gets moving and knocks at the valve, like a
hammer, and keeps driving a bit more water up the pipe. But doesn't it lose as
much water as it pumps?"
"More. But this is a river. Plenty of water here. But not enough up the hill
where we are. We have all we need. The water really pumps itself up to us. The
hydraulic ram should last indefinitely, with no maintenance, unless a valve
should get jammed."
"I never knew there was such a thing. I like it."
"They say that thirty years ago there was a problem translating the term from
a Russian paper. It came out 'water sheep.' "
Bry laughed. "So maybe I was half-right. It is an animal."
They made their way back up the hill, following the pipe. Then Faience paused.
"I just realized: I have a date to go in tomorrow with Tourette."
"Who?"
"I need to explain about her. She's really nice. But there are two things. Can
I tell you something in private?"
"You mean a secret?"
"Not exactly. It's something you need to know, but not to bruit about, as it
were."
"To use discretion."

"Yes. I don't want to embarrass anyone."
"Sure, yes. I'll be discreet."
"Tourette's from the Bones community."
"The what?"
"Our nickname for it. It's a neighboring community we don't like, settled by
survivalists. Gun nuts. Militia men. Every one of them is armed and dangerous.
We wish they would go away, because -- "
"Because you're pacifists. And vegetarians. What a combination!"
"Yes. They don't much like us, and we don't much like them. But neither group
is moving; we both have too much invested in our land and development.
We don't speak to each other. If we see one of them on the road, we go right
on by in silence. They do the same."
"You snub each other."
"Yes. And Tourette's one of them. So I don't speak of our acquaintance."
Bry considered that. "I don't want to give offense, but is that honest?
You said you like straight speaking."
She looked pained. "I do. But this is difficult. She's nice. And there aren't
a whole lot of girls my age around here. Actually she's sixteen, two years

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older, but that's close enough."
Bry spoke carefully. "Sometimes there is a conflict between truth and decency.
My sister Flo is really fat, but we don't go up and call her fatso.
So maybe if a person has a friend that others might not approve of, for no
good reason, it's better just to keep her mouth shut."
"Yes!"
"So I guess I can keep my mouth shut. But how did you get together with her,
if the two communities don't associate?"
"I was out looking for berries, alone, and there she was. We sort of struck it
up. She's lonely too. Her folks are really overprotective. So we're secret
friends."
"But if you go into town together -- "
"Mom drives. She understands. So Mom shops for supplies, and we see a movie.
It's nice. I sort of watch out for Tourette."
"But if she's older than you, and armed -- "
"That's the other thing. Tourette's not her real name. It's just what I
call her. She -- when we met, she was shy, almost afraid of me. I couldn't
think why. I mean, she carried a gun and a dagger, and I was unarmed, so it
couldn't have been any thought that I could hurt her. Then she started
twitching, sort of, and I was scared. I asked whether anything was wrong, and
she said Tourette. I thought it was her name, so that's what I called her.
Later I learned it wasn't, and I was really embarrassed, but she said it was
okay, she knew I didn't mean anything by it. So that's her name, to me."
"I don't understand. Why did she give you a wrong name? And why did she
twitch?"
"It's a disease, or at least an affliction. Tourette's syndrome, named after
the doctor who described it. Mostly boys get it; only about 20 percent are
girls. They vary. Some just twitch, and they can suppress it for a while, if
they try, but eventually it will happen. Others are worse, and they grunt or
even say things, like cusswords or obscenities, and they can't help it.
Tourette -- I mean my friend -- is sort of in between. It comes and goes, and
she can hold it down some, but sometimes it really gets away from her and
she'll grunt and hiss something awful. It passes in a moment, and she's okay,
as if nothing happened. But she doesn't like to do it in public."
"I can appreciate why. Maybe it's like epilepsy."
"Maybe. I don't think anybody really knows. What matters is that it's not her
fault, and it's not contagious, and it has nothing to do with how else she
looks and acts. So if she twitches, just ignore it. Give her a break."
"You're afraid I don't understand?"

"Yeah," she agreed, embarrassed.
"I do understand. But I'm not free to tell you why. That's another confidence
I keep. But maybe you'll find out. Then you'll know how well I
understand."
"Okay," she said, looking relieved. "So if you come over to my house tomorrow
morning, early, we'll go in. We use the community van; there's room in there
for any number of teens, sitting on the floor. Only, if your sister and her
friend -- "
"They are discreet. May I tell them?"
"You'd better. But I'd really rather it didn't go farther."
"It won't. We'll be there, and we won't embarrass her."
"She's really a very nice person, and smart as anything. She's read just about
every book there is, and knows so much. I'm sure you'll like her. Apart from
that one thing."
He saw that she feared he and Lin would treat her friend with that polite
disdain reserved for those one could not blame but really did not want to have
close by. So it was time to change the subject.
Bry looked around, noticing something he had missed when running through this
field before. There were strange plants growing taller than his head.

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"What is growing here?"
"That's hemp."
"Hemp? But isn't that illegal?"
"The stupid law is changing. Anyway, it's not for drugs. Quakers don't use
things like that; in fact they don't much like alcohol or cigarettes either. A
true Quaker is almost without vices." She grimaced. "It must get dull. Hemp's
great for fibers; you can make rope or cloth or paper from it, and it grows
just about anywhere. It produces three to eight tons of fibrous dry stalk per
acre per year, depending on climate and variety, compared to two or three tons
of fiber for southern pine, and it's easier to process. So it represents a way
to save all the trees that get pulped for books and newspapers. Sure, some
species are used for narcotics, but that's not what we're after." She paused.
"But maybe it's best not to talk about it elsewhere.
We grow a lot of stuff that some folk wouldn't understand about. Rare
medicinal herbs, exotic food plants, biomass for alternate fuel, and so on."
"Agreed."
"We're experimenting with kenaf, too. That may be even better than hemp,
because it's not illegal, if we can find a frost-resistant strain."
"What's that again?"
"Kenaf." She accented the second syllable. "It's a variety of the hibiscus, a
cousin of cotton and okra, and it has a similar flower. It grows over twelve
feet tall and yields five to ten tons of fiber per acre per year that's
relatively easy to process for paper. This could revolutionize the pulp
industry. Think of it: great fields of pretty flowers that provide all the
paper the world needs, more cheaply than wood. Beauty and economy together. So
that trees will be for the birds again."
She was really animated, and it was contagious. Bry liked the new directions
this community was exploring. It wasn't retreating from the world so much as
trying to help save the world from its own folly. This was exactly the kind of
thing he would like to be a part of.
They reached the shop. "I'd better get back to work on the baskets,"
Faience said. "But at least I've shown you something, and I don't mean my
jeans. You'll get to know all the parts of Dreams soon enough, I'm sure."
"Maybe it's time for me to learn basket making," Bry said. "Will you teach
me?"
"Sure!"
So they settled down, and he learned how to make a basket from hemp fiber and
reeds. It was both more challenging and more fun than he would have

thought.
That evening he got Lin aside and explained. "I thought maybe, if something
happens, you could, you know, if you want to," he concluded a bit lamely. "So
she knows it's okay."
Lin nodded. "Maybe. I'll tell Jack."
In the morning the three of them went to Faience's house. They met her mother
Fay, and piled into the back of the van with Faience.
"But where is Tourette?" Bry asked.
"We'll pick her up along the way," Faience explained. "I guess her folks know
what's she doing, but she keeps it pretty quiet. I think maybe they'd tell her
no, if she asked, so she doesn't ask and her mom doesn't say anything."
The van got moving. Before long it stopped, and Faience threw open the side
door and jumped down. Bry saw a rather pretty young woman in blue jeans and
heavy shirt standing beside the road. "We have three friends along this time,"
she said. "It's okay; they're visitors. They want to see the movie too."
Hesitantly, the girl stepped into the van and sat down beside Faience.
She wore a sheath at her hip, with a solid knife. "This is Tourette," Faience
said. "And this is Bry, and his sister Lin, and her friend Jack."
The van moved out. "Hi," Bry said.
The girl looked at him somewhat in the manner of a frightened deer. She was

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clearly not at all at ease. Her hair was parted in the center, passing down to
frame her face before falling across her shoulders. It gave her an elfin look.
Then she began to twitch, and then to grunt.
They looked away, trying to defuse the awkwardness. In a moment the girl
settled down. But she looked as if she wanted to scramble out of there.
"It's okay," Faience said. But clearly it wasn't.
Lin glanced at Jack, then at Bry. Then she spoke. "Tourette, I want to show
you something." She lifted her left hand, which was clutching her purse.
She set the purse down. She opened her hand, so that all six fingers showed
clearly.
Tourette stared. Then she reached out. "May I?"
"Yes."
Tourette took Lin's hand and touched every finger, verifying that all were
real. Then she nodded. "I have read of it, but never expected to see it.
Most such cases get corrected surgically at birth. I'm glad that wasn't the
case with you. It's a good hand."
"Good enough for me," Lin agreed. "I just don't like a hassle, so I
mostly hide it."
"You said you understood," Faience breathed, looking at Bry. "Now so do
I."
"And Jack has a club foot," Lin said. "We don't make fun of anybody, in our
family. We know how it is."
Tourette smiled, visibly relaxing. "Yes. Thank you."
After that they talked of other things, feeling increasingly at ease with each
other. Bry discovered he rather liked Tourette; she had a very quick mind, and
she smiled often, now that she was at ease. She soon elicited descriptions
from Bry and Lin of their travels.
"It must be wonderful to be in such far places," she said.
"It really wasn't all that much," Bry demurred. But her ready interest
flattered him. At the same time, he saw how well read she was, because she
knew details about the places he had been that he would have thought only a
traveler would have picked up on.
When they reached town, the five of them walked together to the theater, and
found grouped seats. Lin and Jack sat beside each other, of course, then
Faience, Tourette, and Bry.

After a time, in the darkness, Bry touched Tourette's right hand. "May
I?" he whispered.
She turned her hand over, and he took it, interleaving their fingers.
After that, when something interesting or meaningful happened in the movie, he
squeezed her hand, gently, and she squeezed back. It had become a date.
When they returned to the van, Bry sat beside Tourette. "Why don't you hold
her hand again?" Faience asked mischievously.
Tourette blushed, and Bry felt his own face heating. They had thought that
business had been unobserved. But he lifted his hand, and Tourette lifted
hers, and they clasped hands. Thus it was official: they had dated.
"I'm sorry," Faience said. "I thought I was joking. It wasn't funny."
"These things happen," Lin said, snuggling closer to Jack. "Your turn will
come."
Again, they talked about many things, compatibly. Tourette suffered a minor
series of twitches, but Bry held firmly on to her hand, and they passed.
He continued to bask in the glow of her interest in all the things he had
done. It was as if he were far more important than usual. He had always
regarded himself as somewhat of a nonentity, and it was a real pleasure to be
regarded as otherwise by this smart and pretty girl.
The van slowed, and stopped. It was time for Tourette to leave. Bry made as if
to get out with her, but she shook her head. "They would not understand."
"Maybe -- next week?"
"I hope so." Then she turned and walked into the forest. He watched her go,

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feeling strange emotions.
"So how do her jeans look?" Faience inquired.
"Just great," Bry answered.
"Their whole compound is wired and guarded like the Maginot Line,"
Faience remarked. "But she knows a safe route through. That's how she gets out
without passing the guard station. But she has to go alone."
"You really like her?" Lin asked Bry.
"I guess I do. There's something about her."
"She's got a pretty potent figure under that clothing," Jack remarked.
"If she ever dressed to show it off, she'd be something."
"Oh, you were noticing?" Lin asked him.
"Don't be jealous, wench. You've got something she doesn't."
"A sixth finger," she agreed, and they laughed.
"Maybe that's it," Bry said. "Maybe I've been looking for someone with a sixth
finger, or something."
"Or something," Lin agreed, nodding. "She's got plenty."
"I told you she was a nice girl," Faience said triumphantly. "You two really
hit it off, once she knew you were for real."
Lin agreed. "I think she's the one for you, Bry."
He realized that she might be right. What a day it had been!
That evening there was a community gathering, where the family was introduced.
There were too many people to assimilate all at once, but all were friendly.
Several complimented Flo on her cooking; she had, in her fashion, dug in and
made something good happen. It was a nice way to get acquainted.
But Bry was distracted by his memories of the day, and thoughts of Tourette.
Yes, she had an awkward syndrome, but it was indeed part of her appeal for
him. He knew how precious the roses could be that others did not appreciate.
And Jack was right: she was a comely girl. Her face and figure were nice, and
so was her nature. Faience was right too: she was as bright a girl as he could
remember encountering. He liked that In fact he liked all of her.
Sunday morning they all dressed up and went to Meeting. It wasn't required,
but they wanted to understand this community, because it wasn't just a
question of finding employment. They were not being paid for their work in

money, just in kind: their residence was free. If they decided to join, and
the community of Dreams wanted them, they would continue to work without pay.
Membership was the only reward. They needed to know whether they could fit
into this religious community, and whether they wanted to.
Quaker Meeting was not exactly like a regular church service. There was no
minister, and there were no songs or readings. The people filed in quietly and
took the pews and seats. They sat in silence.
After a while, one of the men of the community stood. "We live in perilous
times," he said. "The world is becoming more difficult. It is good to find
refuge in the field and forest. I pray to the divine spirit that is within all
of us that our effort will be successful. We hope to achieve an island of
peace that will endure though troubles come elsewhere. I see it being
realized, but I don't know whether it is enough. May amity and fellowship
prevail throughout." He sat down again.
Later another person stood, and spoke of the beauty of the day and the
countryside, and the joy of the experience of harmony with nature. Another
person did not stand, but leaned forward and spoke a prayer for peace in all
the world.
Bry wasn't sure what to make of it. This was a religious service? It seemed
like a meditation session, with occasional comments thrown in. Yet he rather
liked the atmosphere. There was a certain quiet good humor throughout.
These people were quite serious, without taking themselves too seriously.
In due course the meeting ended, and people chatted with each other. Jes
discovered an old friend of hers named Crockson. "I must repay that loan!" she
exclaimed.

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"What loan?" the man asked blankly.
"Don't pretend you don't remember! It enabled me to travel on until I
found my husband."
Bry moved on, not much interested, because he didn't know Crockson.
Faience came up. "What did you think of it?" she asked Bry.
"It's different, but nice," he said.
"Like Tourette?"
He laughed. "Maybe so."
They adjourned to a nice lunch of fresh vegetables that tasted better than
anything Bry had eaten recently. "We do our own gardening," Faience explained.
"We can use another gardener, if you're interested."
Offhand, Bry could not think of anything he would be much less interested in.
But his recent experiences with the hydraulic ram, basket weaving, and
Tourette had shaken his certainties. Maybe there would be more surprises.
"Okay."
In the evening there was a song session. The harmonies were not perfect, but
were enthusiastic, and Bry found himself joining in as he learned the songs.
One especially struck him: "The Garden Song." "Inch by inch, and row by row,
Going to make this garden grow." There was a wholesome optimism that was
contagious. "Pulling weeds, picking stones, We are made of dreams and bones."
The image caught hold of him. Dreams and bones -- that was indeed what this
community was all about. It was personal for Bry, because this community was
called Dreams, while the nickname for the other community, where Tourette
lived, was Bones. Bry and Tourette, dreams and bones. He had nice dreams, she
had nice bones. But it was more than that. Much more.
The next day, Monday, Bry started the day with Ned and Bill, who were trying
to design a refinement for the Solar Stirling engine. Bry realized that if he
wanted to be of any real use with the computer, he would have to learn to
understand the principle of the Stirling engine. But its mechanism was weird;
it had a piston, but it wasn't like a gasoline motor. For one thing, he had
heard it was a free piston, connected directly to nothing. How could that
accomplish anything?

"Maybe I can help," Faience said. "I have a general notion, because Dad has
explained it to me about half a zillion times. I can tell you what I know
while we work on the garden."
He had forgotten: he had agreed to go to the garden with her. "Okay."
It turned out that they had a number of gardens, ranging from old-
fashioned outdoor dirt to hydroponic. They had to pull some encroaching weeds
from a tomato patch without damaging the garden plants. This was reasonably
tedious work, which was ideal. While they worked, Faience explained the Solar
Stirling engine as she understood it.
"First, you have to understand that it's an external combustion engine,"
she said. "It can run on anything, but we're using the sun as much as we can.
We have huge reflectors set up to focus the sunlight on the engine, making it
very hot."
"I didn't see those."
"They're portable, and made of shiny cloth or foil stretched on frameworks; no
point in setting them up until we get the kinks out of the engine. We can also
use a series of Fresnel lenses -- named for a French physicist -- which
consist of very thin optic lenses of short focal length layered in concentric
rings. We can get square Fresnel lens panels commercially, and they can
generate a lot of heat -- up to 3,000 degrees
Fahrenheit. They're less sturdy, but resistant to minor pocks or scratching,
and much more efficient, and that's important here where we can't be sure of
intense sunlight."
She obviously had more than a "general" notion. She was comfortable with terms
he had never heard of. "Okay, I understand how a lot of heat can translate
into power. A gasoline engine does that. But there the explosions push the

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pistons, and the pistons push the wheels, ultimately, making the car move.
Your Stirling engine has just a loose piston that stays inside. I don't know
what makes it move, and how it can do any work when it does move."
"Those are easy questions to answer," she said. "The heat focuses on a chamber
and heats the air inside. Actually it's not air, it's helium, what we call the
working fluid, but you can think of it as air if you want to."
"Isn't helium a gas, rather than a fluid?"
She smiled. "Sure it is. But under high pressure at high heat, it acts just
about like a fluid, so that's the technical term. It heats and expands, and
pushes the piston out. Then the heat is cut off, and it cools and contracts,
and the piston comes back in. So that's what makes it move. Of course the
actual cycle is way more sophisticated, with a regenerator, a piston, which is
actually connected to the alternator, not exactly 'free' in the way you
thought -- it's what we call a 'kinematic mechanism' -- and a displacer, and
the piston and the displacer take turns moving as the helium changes volume
and moves about. The displacer is to make sure it doesn't lock up at the
extremes, I think. I could draw you a diagram in the dirt -- "
"No, I get the message: it gets hot and pushes the piston out, then it gets
cool and pulls the piston back in. But since the piston isn't connected to
anything solid -- "
"How does it do any work," she finished for him. "You'll kick yourself for
this one. You know how they generate electricity from big dams or whatever?"
"They pass iron wiring through magnetic fields. The motion generates electric
current that -- " He paused, seeing it. "Electricity! The piston generates
current. It doesn't need to go outside the engine; all it needs to do is
move."
"Right. So it moves a tenth of an inch, sixty cycles a second. The helium
varies only a few degrees in temperature, at about 670 degrees Celsius, but it
does the job. And we have power. Or will, once it is properly set up."
"What's the matter with it? Don't they deliver these things ready to

operate?"
"They do, but it seems that the tolerances are extremely close, and it has to
be adjusted just right. That's what Dad's been working on. He's checking the
computer to get the settings exactly right for the job we have, and, well, he
says the devil is in the details."
"That's what Ned says, too. They'll work it out."
"They'd better. We're on commercial power now, but when the crash comes, we'll
have to be on our own power."
"The crash?"
"You know, when society collapses and civilization ends. That's why were out
here. So we won't be taken down with it, and humanity won't expire."
Bry was amazed. "Do you really think that's going to happen?"
"Oh, sure. We just don't know when. Isn't that why you folk are out here? To
save your skins?"
"No, just to find decent work and living conditions. We don't much like it in
the big city. But I guess you're right: We know that things can't go on as
they are. Something's going to give, and maybe pretty soon."
"Yes. So it's best to be well away from the bomb before it explodes. And not
to be dependent on the rest of the world for anything, so we don't get dragged
down with it."
"Isn't that a rather selfish philosophy?"
She nodded, unsmiling. "I guess it is. But I don't see too many others trying
to protect themselves either. They find it easier just to ignore the
handwriting on the wall."
"How about the survivalists?"
"Bones. Yes, I guess they are doing it too. But we don't like their guns. In
fact, they make us pretty damn nervous."
"Why? Aren't they just trying to be ready to protect themselves?"

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"From what? From us? More likely they figure to come in and take what we've
got."
Bry was silent, pondering that. It did seem like sheep living next to the den
of wolves. "But Tourette -- she's not like that."
"Yes she is. Ask her."
"But then why are you friends with her?"
"The crunch hasn't come yet. So there's no problem. But when it happens, we
won't be friends any more. We both know that."
"I can't believe that."
"Well, you're half in love with her."
"I am not! We've only dated once."
She shook her head. "I'm jealous, I admit it. Not of you personally. I
knew you weren't for me. I mean of your relationship. You saw her, and she saw
you, and it was like two magnets getting charged. And not just because you're
handsome and she's pretty, though I guess that doesn't hurt. I wish I could
meet someone and have that happen. I'm a little annoyed I didn't see it
coming, but of course I was afraid you'd be turned off by her syndrome. You
said you understood, but I didn't really believe that. Tourette was almost
afraid of you, despite being fascinated. Then when your sister showed her hand
-- you've been waiting all your life for someone like Lin, only who's not your
sister, and there she was. And Tourette -- she's never had a boyfriend. She
saw that hand, and she knew. You two were destined for each other." She looked
at him challengingly. "Now tell me it's not so."
Bry considered. Could he be in love with Tourette, after just one day with
her? And she with him? "I don't think love happens like that.
Fascination, maybe, but not love. Sure I like her. But -- "
"What's the big distinction between fascination and love, except that the one
happens fast and the other slow? You two are in mutual orbit, spiraling in
together. Maybe if you never see each other again, you'll get

over it. But next week -- do you even want me along?"
Bry reconsidered. "I think maybe you'd better be along. If she feels the way I
do, we're in free fall. There's no telling what might happen."
"Would it be wrong?"
"Yes! We're not ready for that. My family may not even stay here, and anyway,
if I'm a Dream and she's a Bone, how can it be?"
"Okay, I'll be there. But I think you'd better have that Dreams and
Bones discussion with her right away."
"I'd better," he agreed, with uncomfortably mixed feelings.
The week passed, and with every day it looked more as if the family was
fitting in, and would stay. Flo liked the big kitchen, and the community
members liked her cooking. Dirk was an all purpose handyman, doing good work.
Sam was finding plenty of outdoor hard work to do, the kind he liked, on a
crew that Ittai organized, and it was evident that they were making a
difference. Ned and Bill were working well together, each appreciating the
intellect of the other. Snow and Wildflower and Lin were mixing with the
women, doing everything from baskets to painting walls, compatibly. The
children loved everything about the community. Faience showed Bry around the
rest of the garden area, including the heated greenhouse, which could be kept
at over a hundred degrees Fahrenheit if required. It seemed that some of their
rare medicinal herbs liked that kind of environment. Only Jes seemed a bit out
of sorts, but that might be because she was still adjusting to new motherhood.
But there was no avoiding the fact that the community of Dreams did not like
the community of Bones, just as Faience had said. The weekly trips into town
to see the movie were the only contact between any members of the two, and
that was quiet, perhaps unknown to any but the mothers of the two girls.
And to Jack, Lin, and Bry, who were not talking about it. There just might be
hell to pay if the news got out.
Saturday came. Jack and Lin did not go; they had other things to do, being

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well wrapped up in community activities. So it was just Bry and Faience
-- and Tourette.
This time Tourette wore a skirt and blouse. She was indeed a nice figure of a
woman. She had done something with her hair, and looked lovely. This time she
wore no visible weapon.
Faience jumped down. "I'll ride in front, this time," she said, and climbed
into the front seat. That left Bry and Tourette together alone in back. There
was a screen separating the front seats from the rear of the van, so they had
reasonable privacy.
They closed the door and settled down, leaning against opposite sides, their
knees up. Tourette's skirt fell away below, so that her thighs showed.
Bry tried not to look, but failed. Actually the van was dark enough inside so
that it was mostly shadow down there, but his imagination ran rampant.
Her very presence made his pulse accelerate. He was suddenly shy.
"You're beautiful."
"Thank you."
"I think -- I think we have to talk," Bry said.
"Before we do, would you kiss me?"
"If I do that, we may never talk."
"That's okay with me."
Bry came to a pained realization. "You think I'm going to -- to break it off?"
"I would, in your place."
"You think -- the syndrome? That's not -- "
"Please. Before we get into it. Then I will listen, and there will be no
trouble. I promise." She looked at him, beseechingly.
He moved across, kneeled, and kissed her. The van lurched at that moment, and
he caught only half her mouth before he fell over. But she joined

him on the floor, laughing. Lying there, they kissed again, hard and long.
Then, embraced, they remained there. Her body against his was wonderful.
He felt the motion of her breast when she breathed. "Faience says it's love,"
he murmured.
"She may be right."
They kissed again. Then she spoke. "I'm not apt at this. I have no experience
in romance. But the way I feel -- maybe it's better to be clumsy than silent."
She took his hand and set it on her thigh where the skirt rode up. "Anything
you want, Bry. Please."
"Oh, Tourette, I want everything. I think you're the greatest girl. But
-- "
"I know. Two different worlds."
"We're -- we're joining the pacifists. Do your folk really go armed all the
time?"
"Yes. And we are trained to use our weapons."
"But you aren't -- "
"Yes I am. Here." She guided his hand up under her left arm. There, next to
her breast, was a flat holster. "Knife. In this outfit, a gun's too hard to
conceal."
"Why did you dress this way, then?"
"For you. Because I wanted to look nice for you. And to make it possible for
you to do anything you might want to do with me. But I still had to be armed."
"For self-defense," he said. "Because it's not safe for a girl alone."
"You understand?"
"My eldest sister got raped. And my brother's wife, too. And -- well, Lin
needs protection. My sister Jes is always armed, even now with her baby."
"But you can't be that way, in Dreams."
"But I don't mind if you are. I mean, each person makes his own decision,
doesn't he?"
"No. At Bones, you train in martial art. You go armed. Always. Even when
sleeping."

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"So if I visited, I'd have to have a gun, or something?"
"Yes." She moved his hand across her blouse, so that it touched her warm
breast. "Anything you want, Bry. But I am what I am."
"You mean you think I'll dump you, but you'll give me everything anyway?"
"Yes. Now, while I can. I think I love you."
"I think I love you, too. But I know these things take time. Sometimes it
doesn't work out. My brother's first wife was beautiful, but -- it just takes
time. Maybe I should meet your father, or something."
"No. He would see to it that I never saw you again."
"Oh, Tourette, I couldn't bear that!"
"He may find out anyway. He has ways of knowing. I love him, but he's a hard
man. I don't mean he's bad; he's tough but fair. Mom can stand up to him, but
I can't. So this may be our only chance. I hope not, but I don't want to
gamble."
"You want -- to have sex -- because you may never see me again?"
"Please. I might twitch a bit, but that will pass. As I said, I dressed to
make it possible."
She had actually planned for this! Yet he balked. How much of this was love,
and how much was desperation, if she thought she would never again be with a
man? Any man? "I can't do that. I must see you again."
"You don't know. Dad's away now, but when he returns in a few days, he'll
know. Then I won't go to town any more."
"But don't you have any choice?"
"Not in such a case. We -- we aren't a democracy, Bry. My father is the

headman. What he says, goes. I will have the chance to embarrass him only
once."
"If you don't come out," Bry said with sudden resolve, "I will go in to find
you."
"Oh, Bry, don't do that! You have no idea! Please, just love me and let me go,
if that's how it has to be."
"I can love you. I can't let you go. Not while I know you love me."
"I do, Bry." Then she kissed him with such passion that there was no point in
further dialogue.
But before they had gotten beyond hand on breast and thigh, and mouth on
mouth, the van slowed. "We're coming into town," Faience called back.
"Damn!" Tourette muttered.
But Bry was half-relieved. He desired her, but caution told him that sex at
this time could be disastrous. There had to be a way to make their association
legitimate.
They got themselves back in order and got out when the van stopped.
Faience joined them, and they went to the movie. In the dark theater, Bry put
his arm around Tourette's shoulders, and she rested her head against him and
touched his knee with hers. It was sheer bliss.
When they returned to the van, the front seat was full of supplies, so
Faience had to rejoin them in the back. "Sorry," she said.
"It's okay," Bry said. "You introduced us."
"I can face away and stop up my ears."
They both laughed. "You're curious what happened on the trip down,"
Tourette said.
"Yeah," the girl admitted, abashed.
"Well, first we kissed like this." Tourette kneeled, hugged Bry's upper torso
and pulled him in for a very solid kiss. Actually it had been the other way
around, but it hardly mattered. He loved kissing her regardless. "Then he put
his hand on my blouse, like this." She guided his open hand and mashed it into
her breast.
"No, first I touched your thigh," Bry said, with mixed emotions:
amazement, desire, and laughter. The more he discovered about Tourette, the
better he liked her. Once her genie had been uncorked, she had poured out a

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whole lot of personality.
"Oh, that's right." She moved his hand down, and up under her skirt. "Or did I
put my hand into your pants? I forget."
"Damn, I wish I had a boyfriend!" Faience exclaimed.
"We're teasing you," Bry said. "That's as far as it went."
"Oh. Still. It must be nice."
"It is nice," Tourette said. "I love him, just as you surmised, and I
think he's halfway hot for me."
"Three-quarters of the way," Bry said, kissing her again. "Going on
four-fifths." Then she sat on his lap and they embraced and kissed some more,
just to make Faience jealous, they said.
But after a bit they disengaged, because both were aware that if they didn't
ease off, they would soon get into full sex in Faience's presence, and that
was beyond what they could handle.
The rest of the ride back was routine. For Bry, for now, that was enough. But
he worried about the future.
"I love you," Tourette repeated, kissing him one last time before she
disappeared into the forest.
"I never saw her so hot and happy, before," Faience said. "And desperate. It's
as if she thinks the end of the world is coming."
"She does." He hesitated. "Faience, if she doesn't come next week, will you
show me exactly where the Bones layout is?"
"Are you thinking of doing something romantic and stupid?"

"If I have to. Her dad may not let her come."
"It's just down the road, that way. They've got a bunker and guardhouse.
You have to go in the front way, because the rest is surrounded by mines and
barbed wire."
"Mines?"
"That's what Tourette said, once. They've got a siege mentality.
Automatic guns that track you, that sort of thing. They're not nice people,
Bry."
"Except for Tourette."
"Except for Tourette," she agreed. "Did she show you her knife?"
"Right by her breast."
"Yeah." She looked momentarily thoughtful. "I wonder if I should wear a knife
there? When I'm off-campus, I mean."
"First get a boyfriend to show it to, or to let him feel for."
She laughed. "Yeah."
During the week, between projects, he talked with Jes. "I have a problem,
maybe. Something you should maybe talk me out of."
She was nursing her baby. Her breasts had grown enormously with pregnancy and
childbirth. She caught him looking. "Yes, I hope they stay this way, after.
I'm tired of being mistaken for a man."
"You mean the pacifism is getting to you? You want to be soft like a woman?"
"When I want to be. But I'm no pacifist. I think that part of Dreams
philosophy is unrealistic. Come the crash, how will they stop the crazies from
overrunning them for their food and supplies?"
"I don't know. How's Ittai feel about it?"
"He loves it here, but he doubts, too. I think our family is split about
evenly between believers and doubters. That may be a problem."
"Well, maybe my problem relates. I have to tell you something private."
She nodded. "Tell."
"I've been seeing a Bones girl."
Her eyebrows elevated in mock shock. "Consorting with the enemy?"
"I think I love her."
"Think?"
"Actually, I'm pretty sure I love her. And she loves me. And her dad maybe
won't let her out any more. Which mean's I'll maybe have to do something

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stupid."
"Like going over there and demanding to see her?"
"Yeah."
"And you could use a backstop."
"Yeah."
"Why do you think I'd be more help than, say, Sam?"
"They all go armed, all the time. Even the women and children. You might
relate better."
She laughed. "I might indeed. Very well, little brother; I'll go with you. I'm
starting to go stir crazy here anyway."
"Thanks," he said, relieved. "Maybe it won't be necessary."
But Saturday morning, Tourette was not there. "Uh-oh," Faience said.
"She was right. 'Cause I know she'd come here if she could."
"I guess I'll have to beg off the movies, this time," he said. "You go on in
alone. I've got business here."
"And miss the show? I'll go with you."
"Thee will not," her mother said sternly. "I can't stop the visitors from
being suicidal, but thee is mine."
"It's no democracy here, either," Faience grumbled. But she joined Fay in the
van. "But if thee gets thyself stupidly killed, Bry, I'll never speak to thee
again."

He had to laugh, and not just because of her humor. Her mother had used the
plain talk, and that had triggered Faience's switch to it. But he was
distinctly nervous. He knew he was going to make what could be a bad scene.
He went back to Jes, who, evidently anticipating this, had just finished
nursing her baby and had turned her over to Snow. She was wearing a jacket and
skirt, and carried a bow and arrows. "If they want to see Diana the Huntress,
so they shall," she said.
They drove their own van to the Bones entry. It was indeed closed, with a
guard who came alert as they parked and came forward. He carried a rifle at
port arms. "What's your business?" he demanded.
"I'm Bry, and this is my sister Jes," Bry said. "We're from the Dreams
community, trial new members."
"They don't carry weapons."
"Maybe I'll flunk my trial," Jes said.
"We don't have anything to do with them."
"Well, I do," Bry said. "I have come to see the chief's daughter."
"Petition denied. Go back where you came from."
"I call her Tourette."
The man jumped, his rifle swinging around. But Jes was faster. Her knife was
in her hand, the tip of the blade pointing at his face. "At ease, soldier,"
she said.
He hesitated, so she did her trick with the knife, flipping it and catching it
an inch from his nose.
The guard shrugged, then looked at Bry. "Describe her."
"Age sixteen. Shoulder-length brown hair. Brown eyes. About yea tall."
He held his hand at the level of the top of her head. "Very nice figure. Very
nice person."
"What's your business with her?"
"I love her."
The guard whistled. "You're in trouble."
"Just take me to her."
The guard lifted a walkie-talkie. "Two from Dreams being admitted on temporary
passes to see the chief's daughter."
The gate cranked open. Another guard appeared "This way," he said curtly.
He brought them to a Jeep, and drove them along a winding drive to a massive
building that had the aspect of a fortress. A device on its roof moved to
track them, just as Faience had said.

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They parked near an armored door. "I must search you before you enter,"
the guard said.
"Like hell," Jes snapped.
"Electronic."
She shrugged. "Okay. But where I go, I go armed."
"Understood. This way."
They passed through a frame similar to that of an airline inspection station.
There was no buzzer, but Bry saw the guard look at a computer screen.
Then he spoke into a mike. "Man, unarmed. Woman, with bow, ten arrows, three
knives, and a club."
"Do they come in truce?" a woman's voice asked from a speaker.
"Yes," Bry said. Jes hesitated, then nodded. Evidently that was good enough,
because the metal door slid open.
"You will be met inside," the guard said.
They entered. A woman in a clerical uniform rose from a desk just inside. She
wore a gun, and looked vaguely familiar. "What is your business here?"
"You already know it," Jes said tersely.
The woman smiled. "So you understand the situation."

"No."
"The boy made illicit contact with one of our members. Further contact is
denied."
"Let her tell me that," Bry said.
The woman lifted one hand to make a small beckoning signal. A door opened
behind her, and Tourette emerged. She was in a black uniform: military cap,
close jacket, trousers, boots. And a wide belt supporting a holster with a gun
at her right hip, and a sheath with a knife at the left hip.
"So you came," she said to Bry.
"I love thee."
She glanced at him, startled, and he realized that he had used the plain talk.
Fay to Faience to him: it seemed to be contagious. But he realized that it was
also because he now identified with Dreams, and did want to be a part of it.
Well, so be it.
After a strained pause, Tourette spoke. "Please leave."
"Thee knows I can't."
"Bry, I told you. It can't be. Please."
"Tell me thee doesn't love me."
"I -- " Then her face crumbled. "Mom -- "
Mom? But there was indeed a family resemblance. That was why the woman had
looked vaguely familiar.
The woman shook her head. "My daughter does love you, Bry. But she may not
associate with you at this time." She lifted a hand, forestalling Bry's
objection. "It is not just her father's disapproval. Were you to qualify to
join this community, it would be possible. But there is illness, and we do not
wish to spread it to you. Separation is a kindness at this point."
"Illness?" Jes asked.
"It seems to be the flu, a deadly form. We fear that secondary infections will
be resistant to treatment. My husband caught it in Africa, but it did not
manifest until he arrived here. Otherwise he would not have returned. The
least we can do is confine it."
Bry exchanged a glance with Jes, knowing she was as surprised as he was.
"Maybe -- maybe we could help. I mean, the Dreams community. They have herbal
medicines -- "
"I doubt it. Now please go. You may be at risk here."
Bry looked at Tourette, and saw tears streaming down her face. Surely what
they said was true. The sensible course was to leave immediately.
But he wasn't sensible. "Come with me," he said to Tourette. She didn't move.
"I've been exposed." Then she started to twitch. She must have been
controlling it, but she was under such tension that it was getting away from

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her. Her shoulders jerked and her head tossed wildly.
Something buzzed in his mind. He stepped across, so quickly she did not react,
and took her in his arms. Her body relaxed. He kissed her, steadying her face
with his own. She returned the kiss, avidly. He tasted the salt of her tears.
He lifted his head and looked around. The woman was standing with her hand on
her pistol, and Jes was standing with a knife drawn. Threat and
counter-threat.
"Now I have been exposed too," Bry said.
"You have done a foolish thing," the woman said, and Jes nodded agreement.
"Whatever Tourette suffers, I want to suffer too. If you won't let me in, let
her out. Maybe she doesn't have it. Maybe she'll be safer in Dreams."
"They will not speak to an armed person," the woman said.
"They speak to me," Jes said.
The women studied her, appraisingly. "Will you join Dreams?"
"I don't know. As I see it, there are occasions when pacifism simply

doesn't work. I would have to give up my weapons if I joined, and I'm not sure
that's wise."
"You might be more comfortable here in Bones."
They called it Bones too? No, probably that was just a facetious acceptance of
the term, leaving the real community anonymous. Just as was the case with
Tourette.
Jes stared at her. "You are inviting me to make a trial visit here?"
"With your husband, of course. We have need of organizers of his caliber. We
would also be interested in your closest brother, as we are a high-tech
community."
Jes seemed intrigued. So was Bry. How could the woman know so much about their
family? "What of his wife?"
"We are an equal opportunity employer. We do not discriminate on the basis of
color or past condition of royalty."
"But you do on the basis of ideology," Bry said.
"And Dreams does not?"
"Touché," Jes said. "I will think about it. But our family is unified.
We won't split between hostile groups. We'll all go to one, or to another. And
there are those of us who would not come here."
"I know. You will have a difficult decision."
"What of us?" Bry asked. "Tourette and me?"
"You must stay, or she must go. If you stay, you risk the illness. If she
goes, she risks spreading it."
"If she has it," he said. "If she doesn't, she can escape it."
"It is a serious gamble, either way. I take it upon myself to make that
decision. She may go." Her mouth quirked. "With thee."
"Oh, Mom!" Tourette cried.
"It is a rational decision. May God forgive me if I am mistaken." She touched
a button on her desk, and the door slid open. "Go quickly."
They went quickly. The guard was waiting outside. They got into the
Jeep, and rode back to the front gate. Then on out to their van.
"She let me go," Tourette said in awe. "I never thought she would."
"She loves you," Jes said. "She wants to spare you the plague."
"Yes. But what if I have it already?"
"We must warn the Dreams."
Something bothered Bry. "When I kissed thee, and thy mother started to draw
her pistol, and Jes warned her off with her knife -- doesn't Bones have better
protection than that?"
Tourette laughed. "Mom could have had the room flooded with nerve gas,
knocking us all out in an instant. But she liked your sister's look. She got
downright friendly after that."
"And she knew about us, about our family," Jes said. "Did you tell her?"
"No. I said nothing at all. But we have personnel who research in the computer

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data bases and on the Internet. They must have made files on you.
Knowledge is the best defense. I didn't know they had it in mind to recruit
you."
"Then why didn't they want me to see you?" Bry asked.
"I think Mom thought you were just using me. But when you kissed me in the
middle of a twitch, she changed her mind. Maybe she saw that you had committed
to Dreams, and to me too, because you addressed me with the plain talk. And
she does like your sister." She snuggled against him. "But if I
carry the plague out -- "
"We'll warn them," Jes said as she pulled into the parking lot.
But Marc shrugged it off. "We have people going in and out all the time.
We are constantly exposed. We'll handle it."
"But this is really bad," Tourette said. "A killer flu."
"We are equipped. If the malady is in Africa, with a several day lag

time, it is elsewhere too. We'll be exposed to it from some other source,
sooner or later."
"I'm not sure it's smart for Dreams to be isolated from Bones," Jes said. "We
need to talk with the Dreams community elders."
"To what point? We have no common ground with them."
"Please," Tourette said. "I wish I could talk to the elders. There are things
that need to be understood."
Marc looked at her. "As long as thee evinces thy lack of sympathy with our
philosophy, by bearing weapons, there is no point. I think thee will encounter
a similar attitude wherever thee inquires."
"But it wouldn't be honest for me to disarm myself," Tourette said. "I
am as I am, and I don't care to hide it."
"Then perhaps thee should return to thy community."
They let it go. The elders might be pacifists, but that didn't mean they
weren't tough-minded. They had their standards, and would not abridge them.
"You can stay with us," Jes told Tourette. "With Bry."
"But the propriety -- "
"We have seen it all. You do as you choose."
Tourette clutched Bry's hand. "This is so unexpected. I hardly know what to
feel."
"Neither do I," he confessed. "Except for love."
That afternoon Bry spoke to Flo. "I brought Tourette home. I think she needs
to meet the family."
Flo always knew what was serious. "Half an hour hence?"
"Okay."
They were all there. "Some of you already know Tourette," he said.
"That's not her real name, but it will do. I love her, and want to be with
her. But she's from Bones, and there's plague there. She's afraid she has been
exposed."
"We know about illness," Ittai said. "We'll cross that bridge if it comes."
"And -- she has Tourette's syndrome," Bry continued. "That's an involuntary
twitching and grunting. It comes and goes. It's okay just to ignore it."
They nodded.
Then Tourette spoke. "I love Bry, but I'm a militant and I think he's a
pacifist. He's using the plain talk now, anyway. I don't know if this can
work."
"Join the throng," Snow said. "Several of our couples split along those lines.
We can't decide whether to join Dreams. We may have to return to the big
city."
"But that's where the trouble is," Tourette said. "We built Bones to escape
all that."
"Which is exactly what Dreams is doing," Flo said. "Similar solutions to a
similar problem -- and the two communities don't speak to each other."
"And one set of leaders is as stiff-necked as the other," Ned said. "It is an

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irony."
"Isn't there any way to get them together?" Tourette asked. "I don't think
either community can survive alone. Oh, they think they can, but can they
really? I mean, if civilization collapses?"
"I think they can't," Jes said. "Dreams will be overrun by the first wave of
teenage thugs looking for drugs. Bones may never run out of bullets, but what
about fuel for its generators, and food? Stored supplies won't last forever,
after the crunch comes."
"We plan to survive the bad times on supplies, then to emerge to re-
colonize the country after it has cleared," Tourette said. "We have supplies
for a decade. We have trucks that will run on natural gas."

"And if illness takes out half your personnel?"
"That makes me nervous," Tourette admitted.
That was all. The family had been introduced to Tourette, and now knew her
place: with Bry. He was the last to find his opposite number.
They joined in the folk singing in the evening, and Bry introduced
Tourette to anyone who was interested, but did not explain the name unless
asked. She was accepted as an addition to the visiting family, though she did
not conceal her origin. The weapons she wore made it clear enough.
"I think it's great," Faience said. "You went in there and got her out."
"Thee gives me more credit than is due," Bry said.
"Bry! Thee has joined us!" She hugged him.
"Well, not without my family," he said. "But I guess it's true, for me;
my vote is to join. But I've got to be with Tourette, too."
"So are you changing sides?" Faience asked Tourette.
"No. I can't turn my back on my family, on my community, or on my nature. I
will return to Bones soon. When the threat of plague is gone, if I
don't have it already. I'm really only on temporary leave from there."
Faience shook her head. "I think it's great that you two are together.
But you know, Romeo/Juliet romances don't work out so well in real life. There
are some awful differences to work out."
"We know," Bry agreed.
They shared a chamber that night, and a bed. But now Tourette was diffident.
"Anything you want," she said, tout there was some reservation.
"What is it?"
"I've never been away from home like this, before. I miss Mom, and Dad, and
everything. And I don't know what's going to happen. I can't relax."
"Then let's just be together, until we're sure."
She turned to him. "Thanks, Bry." She kissed him. He was gratified simply to
be with her.
In the night he felt her motion and heard her grunt. He found her hand, and
squeezed it reassuringly, and she settled down. He wasn't sure she was even
awake. He knew that he could touch her anywhere, and she wouldn't object, but
her hand was enough.
As daylight came, he woke and gazed at her. Her hair was messed across her
face, and she was snoring. He liked that too. She was a real girl.
Sunday morning the family prepared to go to Meeting. "We don't have to go,"
Bry said. "We're still trying to get the feel of Dreams, to know whether it's
really for us."
"If you go, I'll go," Tourette said. "We have church services too."
"We just sit quietly, and anyone who is moved to gives a message. It's sort of
nice."
Several people glanced at Tourette as they approached the meeting house.
She was wearing one of Wildflower's dresses, but over it wore the belt with
the pistol and knife in plain view. She was refusing to pretend to be anything
other than what she was. Jes, also armed, came to join them, lending tacit
moral support. They picked a pew and sat, Tourette flanked by Bry and Jes.
The first message was a prayer: "Lord, we thank Thee for Thy beneficence. Lead

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us down the path of righteousness and mercy. May we stand before Thee without
affectation. May we remember that he who is noble needs not a weapon, needs no
man to guard him; virtue defends him." The last sentence was a quote from one
of the songs they had sung the evening before, but the reference seemed rather
pointed to Bry.
There were other messages. Tourette seemed uneasy. Then, to Bry's
astonishment, she stood and spoke.
"I am not of this community. I apologize for not knowing the proper forms of
expression, and I regret that my presence here makes some of you uneasy. But
there is something I must say. It is said that we are made of

dreams and bones. You are of Dreams, and I am of Bones, and I think that it is
a mistake to separate the two. I think that the two communities are not as far
apart as they may think. Both seek to survive, when human civilization and
culture collapse. We merely have different ways to achieve a similar
objective. You are trying to build a self-sustaining community; so are we. You
want peace. So do we. You want to see a better future. So do we. So we differ
only in the means, not the ends. You believe in nonviolence. We believe that
there are occasions when violence is necessary. We do not seek it, we don't
desire it, but we prepare for it in the hope that preparedness will make it
unnecessary. But even here, we do not necessarily differ from you beyond the
possibility of compromise. There is a martial art known as Aikido. An Aikidoka
will not attack; indeed, he has no means to attack. But if another person
attacks him, he will quickly immobilize that person. He doesn't have to hurt
the other, he merely makes it impossible for that person to hurt him. I think
this is a form of violence some of you could accept. We would teach it to you,
if you wished. It does seem better than standing helplessly by while others
who are not pacifists come to kill your men, rape your women, steal your
children, take your goods, burn your houses, and destroy your dreams."
She paused, and her body began to jerk. She grunted. "No!" she cried, and it
seemed to be a protest to her incapacity, not a denial of her message.
Bry didn't know what to do, so he followed his own advice: he did nothing,
ignoring her seizure. No one else moved or spoke. What a scene to make in the
midst of a worship service!
Bry sat frozen. Tourette had spoken well, amazingly well, surprising him in
more than one respect. He knew that she was rehearsing, to a degree, a
philosophy to which she had had a lifelong exposure. Still, he had not before
appreciated how well she could express herself when she tried. His love for
her swelled in his chest as if his heart were a furnace. Yet there was nothing
he could do to help her in this situation. She had to finish in her own way.
Then the siege passed, and she resumed talking. She was blushing, but pursued
her message doggedly. "I am, as you can see, not a normal person. This is part
of what I am. But I am other things too. I am not a pacifist. I carry a gun
and a knife, and I will use them to defend myself or some other person in need
of defense. I will not conceal my nature; I will not pretend to be something I
am not. That would be hypocrisy. All my people carry weapons, and are trained
in them. None of us are hypocrites. We do not seek quarrels, we only stand
ready to defend ourselves when this is necessary. We are satisfied with our
philosophy, and do not intend to change it, or to ask anyone else to change
theirs. We are not roughnecks; we are educated and civilized, as you are. But
we are also realists, as we fear you are not. We are preparing for a future
that may be ugly beyond belief, because the alternative is to risk suffering
calamity beyond belief. Even now the first wave of it is coming; my father is
dying of a plague we can't fight, and the rest of us may fall too.
It is my hope, my prayer, my fervent wish that I have not brought this terror
among you also. If I have, then how can my shame ever be abated?
"But that isn't all. I find that my life is incomplete. I have been protected
-- too much, perhaps. Now I have found love, outside my community, outside my
philosophy. I never knew love before; maybe my inexperience makes me foolish.

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But it is the greatest passion I have experienced, a mountain when
I have known only foothills. I would do anything to preserve and consummate
that love. But I can't change what I am, and do not seek to change what he is.
I love him as he is. I love him without reservation or limit. He is my sun, my
moon, and all between. But our communities do not approve of our association,
and we do belong to our communities. How can we be together, when our people
are at odds? I know only that if there is not some way to bridge across the
social and philosophical gulf that separates us, I may lose that love, just as
I may lose my father, and then I will die of despair, and perhaps my friend

will too. We need each other, and I think our communities need each other, or
both will perish. The world is not bound by a single creed; there are many
creeds, and it is right that there be these differences, for what works in one
situation may not work in another. Maybe no one way can save the world. Maybe
no two ways can do it. But two are surely better than one. Can we not accept
each other as we are? We differ much as man differs from woman, yet we must
act together if we are to survive. I beg of you, I beg of the world: is there
not some way to do it? Isn't there some way?"
Then, abruptly, she was done, unable to speak further. She sat, and Bry saw
that she was crying. The hell with protocol! He put his arm around her, and
she wept silently into his shoulder. She had tried so hard, speaking so
brilliantly, baring her soul, suffering such humiliation -- and for what? "I
love you," he whispered into her hair. "I love you, I love you, no matter
what."
There was a pause of several minutes. Bry glanced across at Jes, and saw her
sitting stone-faced. The embarrassment of the good people of the Meeting was
almost tangible. Surely there had never before been a message like this!
Then at last an elder rose to speak. "We stand rebuked. We were perhaps too
hasty to judge by appearance. There must be a way."
In a moment another stood. "With due respect, I beg to disagree. I
suspect that 'rebuked' may be too moderate a word. We stand shamed. We have
walked the path of isolation, instead of reaching out to help those in need.
May the Lord forgive us that error, and see that we never repeat it."
Bry knew, with sudden revelation, that the embarrassment of the people of the
Meeting had not been for Tourette, but for themselves. She had gotten through.
Then a third: "I believe there are those among us who would like to inquire
about Aikido."
And another: "Perhaps we have seen it already." There was a general chuckle.
Soon the eldest elder turned to shake hands with the adjacent elder, and the
Meeting was over. But the group did not disperse. Attention was centering on
Tourette.
An elder approached her. "We know something of antibiotic-resistant diseases.
We have alternative techniques that are not generally known to medicine. We
may be able to treat thy father, and others who fall ill. What is the
telephone number by which we can reach a responsible person in thy community?"
Then Bry knew it was going to be all right. The God of the Quakers --
the God of all people -- had answered.
In the 1990s antibiotic-resistant strains of disease increased dramatically.
For example, Streptococcus pneumoniae, causing pneumonia, meningitis, and some
deadly bloodstream infections, evolved variants that could not be cured with
penicillin or other common antibiotics. Diseases that had seemed to be on the
way to extinction returned with renewed force. This was a sinister indication
of the future.
Chapter 20 -- SYMBIOSIS
One of the most significant trends in the later history of mankind was the
formation and expansion of cities. These brought the advantages of safety from
assorted predators, convenience for trade and association, and comfort.
Civilization was largely built around great cities. But cities also put a
strain on the local productivity of the land, reaching far out into the

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countryside for their sustenance. Their garbage -- solid, liquid, and gaseous

-- polluted earth, water, and air. Their increasingly crowded conditions made
them prime reservoirs of disease. Infectious agents prosper best when there
are many targets within easy range. Thus the large predators of the early
years were replaced by the invisibly small predators of the later years.
In the twentieth century the growth of cities accelerated, a function of the
growth of global human population and its increasing concentration in
metropolitan areas. By the end of the millennium there were perhaps twenty
cities with populations greater than ten million people. As the climate
changed, food became scant, pollution got worse, and treatment-resistant
diseases evolved, such cities were increasingly ravaged by modern plagues
ranging from flu to AIDS. As in ancient times, such as during the plague of
Athens, civilized restraints broke down, so that plagues of human ferocity
amplified the effects. Life continued for some, but the quality of it was
drastically reduced.
A few had acted on their awareness of the mischief they saw coming,
establishing enclaves of civilization and relative affluence in remote
districts. But in time these, too, became prey for the brutish remnant of the
larger societies. It required a very special combination of qualities to
survive such onslaughts.
The time is circa A.D. 2025; the place is the Andean mountain range of
Chile, South America. It is midsummer: December.
FLO LOOKED UP FROM HER work as Wilda dashed in. "What is it, dear?"
"Bad men!" the child gasped. "Up on the fog ridge!"
This was probably mischief. "How do you know?"
"Flint and I were up there picking berries, and we saw them. We didn't know
they were bad, but we didn't trust them, so we watched. They took down the
baffles."
That made the diagnosis almost certain. "Dirk," Flo called.
Dirk came from the other room. "Something's up?"
"The children saw strangers taking down the baffles."
"I'll go inquire."
Flo felt a chill. "Alone?"
He paused. "Maybe put in a call to Tourette's father. We can go together."
She picked up the phone and touched the key for Tourette's address. In a
moment the young woman answered. "Yes, Flo?"
"Strangers are taking down the baffles. Dirk thought your dad might want to go
with him to inquire."
"I know he will. Meet at the fork in half an hour?"
"That will do."
Flo hung up. "Fork in half an hour."
"On my way." Dirk went out.
Flo continued working on her bread, but she was uneasy. The baffles were vital
to the well-being of both the Dreams and Bones enclaves. They were large
vertical frameworks covered with fine nylon mesh that collected condensing
water from the high mountain fog. Though the effect was diffuse, enough water
dripped down to not only provide for the needs of the two enclaves, but to run
a generator on the way down. This supplemented the current generated by the
Solar Stirling engines, especially on cloudy days. But the water was the
essential element; without it they would soon be in trouble.
In fact water was the main problem, here in the Andes. Immediately inland from
the Pacific coast was the Desierto de Atacama, perhaps the longest and
thinnest desert in the world, paralleling the great Andes range. It very
seldom rained in this locale, and few rivers made their way down from the
mountains. That was why it was a largely barren region. Which was in turn why
the enclaves had been established here: to be well away from any big city. But

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even here they were not entirely safe.
It had been coincidence that two enclaves had set up so close together.
Neither had been aware of the plans of the others until preparations were well
under way. At first relations between the two had been tacitly hostile. Then
the plague had come to Bones. The medics of Dreams had gone to help, using
their array of special therapies. They had brought Tourette's father to the
heated greenhouse, to isolate him, and plied him with derivatives from rare
medicinal herbs salvaged from the declining rain forests. It was a difficult
search, but in time they found an antibiotic to which the disease was not
resistant, and then he mended. Just in time, for by then others were coming
down with it. They had used the treatment on those others, and stopped the
plague before it was fairly started. It was clear that they had thereby
managed to save a number of lives that would otherwise very likely have been
lost.
After that, relations between the two communities had thawed considerably. The
folk of Bones wanted to repay the favor, in money or in kind, but the folk of
Dreams would accept no payment for doing what was right to do. The matter
faded without resolution. Now it was six months after the onset of the
illness, and all were recovered, and both communities were doing well. They
still existed apart, with different philosophies, but visiting occurred
between them, and Bry and Tourette were not the only young folk dating across
community lines. When anything important came up, of mutual interest, the
communities kept each other advised. Hence her call to Tourette, because both
communities depended on the cloud harvest for water.
In due course Dirk returned. "Remember Bub?" he asked. "He's the leader of a
band of raiders. They demand that we send two female liaison personnel within
the hour, one from each enclave, to stay with them and negotiate terms."
"Terms?" Flo asked sharply.
"In general, they want to take a hefty chunk of our supplies: food, blankets,
clothing -- " He broke off, looking uncomfortable.
"Women?" she prompted.
"They want girls, yes. They promise to return them after they are through with
them."
Flo grimaced. That would mean barefoot, pregnant, diseased, and dead in
spirit. "And what is their threat?"
"The baffles will not be allowed up until they are satisfied with the deal."
"What is their strength?"
"We don't know, but it is clear that they have a sufficient force to maintain
possession of the baffles. They showed us just enough snipers dug in around
the area to satisfy us that it is not an empty threat. We will have no water
until we deal with them."
"They mean to bleed us dry," Flo said angrily. "In more than one sense.
And they may destroy us after that anyway."
"Yes. This is a bad situation. They demand that two more people, one from each
enclave, come within the following hour to serve as runners, arranging for the
goods to be delivered. The first batch they want by dusk today. Now I must
report to the elders."
"The elders are not going to agree to any of the demands. Neither are the folk
of Bones."
"I know," he said heavily. "But if we don't get those liaison people out there
within the hour, the raiders will burn the baffles. Then they'll shoot us down
as we run out of water and come out."
"It's hostages they want. Women they can use or torture while they wait.
To goose us into prompt capitulation."
"Yes. They have figured it out. Apparently that is their business:

preying on isolated communities. When they have squeezed one for all it's
worth, and the pickings diminish, they move on to the next. They are
experienced in what they do, and make few mistakes. They don't just charge in,

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because some communities have mines and traps for the unwary. They force
representatives to bring the goods out to the raiders, on a regular schedule.
It is all very organized."
"I'll go," Flo said.
"What?"
"I'll be the hostage from Dreams. That fits their demand, and they won't be
much interested in raping me."
"Flo -- "
"Who else should be sent out?"
Dirk shook his head ruefully. "I'll tell the elders." He kissed her and
departed.
Flo prepared herself, then walked out on the trail to the fork. She had tried
to make it seem routine, pre-empting the decision of the elders, but she was
afraid. She knew the elders would not readily agree to bring out their goods,
and would absolutely balk at sending out any young women. The community of
Bones, with a more militant attitude, would angrily refuse. That meant that
the hostages would be in trouble. If Bones even sent a hostage.
But there at the fork stood a young woman: a slender beauty with lustrous
black hair, in a skirt and blouse as if going on a picnic. She wore a knife at
her hip, in the Bones manner. No, not a woman, but a girl of nine or ten, not
yet grown. "Oh, honey," Flo said, hurrying to meet her. "You must not be the
one. Those raiders -- "
The girl turned great dark eyes on her. "Do you not know me?"
"Dear, I don't. But I must warn you that this is no polite encounter.
You must go back and have them send out -- " She hesitated, not wishing to
affront the girl. "An older, unattractive woman."
"I am Minne. Adopted daughter of Hugh and Anne. We met once, a while ago."
Flo remembered Hugh and Anne, the musician and dancer. They had met seven
years ago on the coast. They had had a darling little girl. The age was
consistent. And that child had been -- could it possibly be? "And you -- how
could you be -- ?"
"Your natural daughter? I am, you know. That is why I chose to come here. I
knew I would be needed." She glanced up the path. "We must go, or they will
become impatient."
"But Minne, you don't understand. This is no innocent picnic. Those men
-- "
"Please, Flo. We will have time to talk. Then I will show you the mark between
my toes. Now we must reach the baffles in time." She walked on up the trail,
forcing Flo to hurry to catch up. The girl simply would not listen to
Flo's real concern, and Flo was reluctant to spell it out. What would a child
of nine know of rape and torture and killing?
They moved up the mountain, and in due course reached the ledge below the
baffles. There were now just the frames, because the nylon nets had been
furled. When spread, the nets were huge, six meters high and twice as wide,
though they looked small from this distance. Ten million droplets of fog had
to coalesce to form a single drop of water, but on a heavy fog day, thousands
of gallons of water dripped off the nets into the main collection pipe. This
was one of the driest regions on earth; this was the only significant source
of water for the two communities. Which was what made it so vital. Without the
spread nets, they could not survive here.
And the baffles were now in the hands of a ruthless enemy. Several rough men
were standing around the ledge, looking up at the empty frames, holding rifles
at the ready.

A man strode down to meet them. "Well now: one winner and one loser.
Have your groups agreed to the terms?"
"No," Flo said tightly. Obviously she was the loser -- which meant that
Minne was the winner. That was not good news for either of them. Obviously
these brutes would stop at nothing.

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"No," Minne echoed, seeming undaunted.
He nodded. "Sometimes it takes time for them to see the light. If they do not
come to their senses by dusk today, they will hear your screams." He looked
meaningfully at Flo.
Minne stepped between them. "My father will not harm my mother."
He stared. "What?"
Flo decided to let the improbabilities of the girl's attitude go for now. This
was Bub; she had no trouble recognizing him, even after so many years. "You
raped me, ten years ago. This is our daughter."
"It's not possible!" But he looked shaken. Obviously such a thing had never
occurred to him.
"As you wish," Minne said. She took a seat on a rock. "We will be here for the
day. Because I know you, Father, I will give you this advice: if you value
your life, flee at dusk, and never return." She looked away, dismissing him.
Disgruntled, Bub went to consult with the other men. Flo looked at
Minne. "I do not like him," the girl said. "But he is my blood father, so I
had to come to warn him."
Flo struggled again with the weirdness of the girl's manner. She still wasn't
sure that this was her natural daughter, though it seemed likely. But that
made Minne the very worst possible hostage, as far as Flo personally was
concerned. How could she allow such a child to be abused? "Maybe
figuratively," she suggested. "You identify with someone."
The girl turned a disconcerting gaze on her. "Someone 33,000 years ago,"
she said.
Flo could not fathom this, so let it go. "Maybe you can slip away at dusk. It
is not wise for a girl like you to be here among these brute men."
"I came to protect you. I shall see that you are not harmed."
The strangeness would not let go. "Within an hour, the community
representatives will arrive. After that, the mood will turn ugly."
"I will divert the men."
Apparently nothing she could say would get through to Minne. Could the girl be
simple, or out of touch with reality? That would explain a lot. But she seemed
neither stupid nor out of touch. Rather, she had an eerie awareness of reality
that Flo was beginning to envy.
After a time, Minne spoke again. "I came here also because I wanted to be with
you, one time. To love you." She removed her shoe and showed her left foot.
There was the mark between the first and second toes.
Something melted in Flo. Suddenly she accepted everything, regardless of the
confusion. "Oh, honey, I have been looking for you all my life! I'm glad you
found a good family, and I'd never want to deprive you of it, but how I
have missed you!"
The girl hugged her, crying. "Mother."
"Baby." Flo was crying too. This was a fulfillment of a kind she had longed
for, but never expected to experience. Reunion with her lost child.
In due course the emissaries appeared -- and Flo was surprised and dismayed.
Bry and Tourette! Whatever had possessed them to volunteer for this dreadful
danger? The girl was even dressed in a foolish skirt and blouse, similar to
Minne's outfit, showing too much of her legs and bosom as she walked. Sheer
folly!
Bub walked out to meet them. Flo couldn't hear what was said, but she didn't
need to: the two enclaves were not acceding to the terms. But what

would that mean for the water supply?
Bub turned angrily and signaled to his men. Four dashed up and grabbed
Bry and Tourette by the arms. Bub was taking them hostage! Because they hadn't
brought him the capitulation he demanded. Flo started to get up, to protest
this violation of the normal procedures of truce, but Minne drew back on her
arm. "Accept it," she murmured.
What did she know, that Flo didn't? The raiders could hardly have better

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hostages than these. Tourette was the daughter of the leader of the Bones
enclave, and beloved by the Dreams enclave too. Bry, too, was respected by
both groups, and not just because he was so plainly in love with Tourette. Any
threat to one would devastate the other.
Bub searched Bry, running his hands efficiently over body and clothing.
Bry was unarmed. Then he searched Tourette, taking the trouble to squeeze her
breasts and bottom in the process, and found a small pistol and a knife. Flo
realized that Minne had so disconcerted the man that he had forgotten to take
her knife from her; she still wore it.
The men hauled the two of them across to join Flo and Minne. "Those idiots are
going to get two of you tortured," Bub said darkly. "And two of you will do
for entertainment until more girls are delivered. By dusk. You had better hope
that your enclaves see the light by then."
"Flee at dusk," Minne repeated to him. "Don't tell your men."
"My presence is all that keeps my men from raping you right now," Bub replied
contemptuously. "You think you're too young, but you're not. They get a
special thrill from youth. After dusk, if the goods aren't here, I'll let
them." He paused, reconsidering. "In fact, maybe it's best to encourage your
folk now. Sound carries well, up here. Let's see what it takes to get a good
scream." He turned to Tourette. "You first. Take off your clothes, or we will
tear them off you. We encourage you to scream. There's no point in hurting you
more than necessary. But scream you will, repeatedly."
"Have your men gather," Minne said. Then she stood, assumed a pose, and began
to dance.
Bub stared. So did Flo. What was the girl up to? She was well formed for a
child, and had good motions, but she was a child. Yet her dance was
fascinating in its suggestive expertise. In a moment she had the attention of
every man in the vicinity, and probably of the hidden snipers too. Flo was
appalled; too many of the men obviously did have perverted interests. This was
an excellent way to get herself raped before Tourette.
But the men, restrained by the glowers of their leader, merely watched.
Bub might not believe what Minne had told him, but it surely made him hesitate
before abusing her. Minne danced with increasing flair, her skirt and hair
flaring out. It wasn't just her slender body; there was something about the
way she moved that was captivating. The way her mother Anne had danced, years
ago. Flo had not before realized how much of the appeal of a dance was from
the motions, rather than just the body. Minne had unparalleled grace. For the
moment she was actually distracting them from Tourette, who merely stood
watching.
Dusk was approaching. But the girl did not stop. She danced indefatigably, and
the men watched, unable to draw themselves away. When at last their interest
seemed about to flag, Tourette joined her in the dance.
Tourette's motions were not as smooth, but her body was quite well formed, and
her blouse was tight, showing the motions of her breasts, which were not
tightly bound. Her skirt spread out and up often, showing glimpses of her well
fleshed thighs. If she suffered any twitches, they were masked by the energy
of the dance. This was more than enough to renew spectator interest. The girl
had been the appetizer; the woman was the main event. The two circled each
other, moving in tandem, as if they had rehearsed this number. As surely they
had.

"What on earth are they doing?" Flo asked Bry. "This is just getting those
brutes more excited."
"Dusk is the key," he replied enigmatically. "It will not be long now."
Minne whirled, then faced outward and looked directly at Bub, warningly.
What did she know?
Bub looked around. "Someone's missing," he muttered. He walked into the
closing darkness, looking.
Minne finally ceased her dancing, and returned to join Flo. "It keeps me

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warm," she confided.
"Come close to me; I'm warm," Flo said. The girl agreed, and snuggled close.
Tourette continued a little longer, then also stopped. "Now it is dusk,"
she said. She and Bry joined Flo and Minne against the rock.
"Party time!" one of the men said.
"Not till Bub says," another warned him. "He wants that second gal first."
"Well, we'd better set up anyway."
The men brought wood to make a fire. There wasn't much, but they did find
enough to make a small one. The chill fell quickly, even in summer, this high
on the mountain. Several grouped around it, warming their hands. They did not
offer the hostages a place by it.
Flo had a dark suspicion that made sense of certain mysteries. But she didn't
dare ask any of the three young folk about it.
"Hey, where's our cook?" a man asked. "It's time for dinner."
"He was sleeping in the hollow over there."
"I'll go wake the lazy bastard." The man walked into the shadow.
After a time, another looked into the darkness. "Hey, what's keeping you?"
There was no answer. Disgruntled, he went out himself.
In time, the remaining three men began to get nervous. "Something's wrong,"
one muttered. "Where's Bub?"
Flo looked around. The flickering light of the fire illuminated the rock close
to it, while the one against which they sat was mostly in shadow. She realized
that this was not the best place to be, if her suspicion was correct.
"We should move," she said, and hoisted her bulk up. She and the others walked
to the other rock, closer to the brightness of the fire, and settled down
against it. The girl rejoined her, while Bry and Tourette sat close beside
them. The three men seemed not to notice; they were peering nervously out into
the darkness. Flo wondered whether the four of them could simply walk out of
there. But that would accomplish nothing; without hostages, the raiders would
simply burn the baffles. In any event, this was probably the best place to be,
and not just because it was a bit warmer than the other. They were fully
visible here.
"Where the hell are they?" one man demanded. "No one's supposed to sneak off
like this."
"I'll check the cook myself," another said. "Probably somebody's stupid idea
of a joke." He walked into the night.
"Keep in touch," one of the others said nervously.
"Okay, I'll whistle." He did so, and the sound of his halfway tuneless melody
floated back as he walked.
Then it stopped.
"Hey, whistle!" a man by the fire called. But there was no sound.
"Damn it, now I know there's trouble," the other said. He lifted his rifle.
"And these bitches are probably in on it." He whirled and fired. The bullet
struck the rock where Flo had been until recently.
Flo flinched. This made her look prescient. If they had stayed there, they
might have been hit But that wasn't why she had made them move. It was only
for the light.

"Stop that," the other man shouted. "They're our hostages. And I think maybe
we need them."
"For sure." The first man reoriented his rifle. "Come here, bitches."
"Close your eyes," Minne said. Bry and Tourette did.
"But -- " Flo protested.
"Now." The girl put her hand across Flo's face.
Not knowing what to make of this, Flo obeyed. There was a minute or so of
silence.
"Okay, now you can look."
Flo opened her eyes. The men were gone.
Flo looked at Minne. "What happened?"

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"We can go home now. We can use brands from the fire to see our way."
"But the men -- the snipers -- "
"Tell them what you saw, when you return to Dreams."
"But I didn't see anything! The men were there, then they weren't."
"Yes."
"But what am I to make of that? They wouldn't just go away on their own." But
she already had a notion. She had chosen a bright spot to sit, so that anyone
firing a rifle would be able to see exactly who the four of them were, and
where. So as not to shoot them by accident. She had been caught by surprise by
the deadly silence of it.
Minne looked at her. The girl's eyes reflected the fire eerily.
"Remember the plague?"
"Yes, but -- "
"It's payback time," Tourette said.
That was confirmation. It did make sense. The pacifists of Dreams had done the
folk of Bones a significant favor, when a problem had come that the
survivalists couldn't handle. Dreams had not accepted payment. But there had
been a debt. Now that debt had been paid, in a way the pacifists could never
acknowledge. Maybe they would elect simply not to question where the raiders
had gone.
The two girls from Bones had distracted the raiders, including any nearby
snipers, so that they would not be alert for the developing siege. So that
they would not realize that the hunters had become the hunted. Until too late.
They had deliberately risked getting raped, showing the kind of discipline for
which they had been trained.
Probably the bodies would never be found. Trust the survivalists to know their
business. If they could take out armed raiders one by one without a sound,
they could surely handle the rest of it. And with luck, no other raiders would
come, for they would have warning that this region was dangerous. Because of
the surprising symbiosis of communities with fundamentally opposing
philosophies.
"Apparently they just went away," Flo said as they all picked brands from the
fire. "That is all we need to know," Minne nodded. That was the proper answer.
Thus humanity survived both the diseases and the crazed remnants of the
population. Isolation and special cooperation were the keys to such success.
In time with the greatly diminished prospects that such a limited, widespread
population provided, the major diseases died out, and the world was safe for
human re-colonization. This was the hope of Earth. Perhaps this time it would
be done with more care for the future.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
THEORETICALLY, THE AUTHOR IS GOD of his creation, having everything in

his story exactly the way he wants it. But in practice it often works out
otherwise. It wasn't just complications of scheduling, which caused the
writing of this novel to stretch out a year beyond my original completion
date. It wasn't the fact that I started it on the Sprint word processor in
DOS, and finished it on Microsoft Word 7 in Windows 95, with aspects of my
formatting changing accordingly. The material itself developed its own will.
This volume has a number of examples. Like the preceding two volumes, Isle of
Woman and Shame of Man, this one samples the whole of human history and
geography, from Australopithecus of five million years ago to Modern mankind
of the recent future. As with the prior volumes, I had a number of definite
notions to explore. As before, much of the work of research was done by my
researcher Alan Riggs, whose own first story was published in the interim in
Tales from the Great Turtle, and with the help of the library of the
University of South Florida, which freely lent us arcane references. But
several of my favorites turned out quite differently than anticipated.
I worked out special character traits for each major character, especially
their curses: Sam was afraid he would marry an ugly woman, Flo would lose what

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was most precious to her, Ned was doomed to be betrayed, Jes would be
unmasked, Bry would have misfortune, and Lin would be disfigured. But it was
hard to follow though; the story line preferred to follow its own
complications. Oh, those curses did manifest, but after a time they faded out
or were resolved. After that I focused more on the story lines rather than
trying to hold my characters to particular molds. So you might say I stopped
trying to be God, and yielded to the imperatives of the novel.
The names were a separate challenge. I needed to keep the names the same or
very similar throughout the novel, so that readers would know the basic
identities, but names that will do for a cave man and his mate, such as Ugh
and Oola, don't work as well for contemporary times. In the first novel, I
gave my main characters descriptive names, like Blaze and Ember, and stayed
with them throughout. In the second novel, I started with simple sounds, like
Hu and An, and embellished them as human society became more sophisticated.
This time I used simple modern names, ignoring seeming anachronism. Of the
three approaches, I think the first works best, so for the next novel I may
try descriptive names again. I learn from each novel. The time passing for the
main characters varies too. The first novel covered three generations, the
second one generation, and this novel covered about half a generation. I think
the second approach works best: one year between chapters. It gets complicated
when several years pass in a single chapter, as is the case in Chapters 10 and
15, but I still had the other characters age only six months per chapter,
overall. This is apart from the way the characters are illustrating global
history spanning millions of years, and a simple fixed personal rate per
chapter seems best.
Normally I try to space out the regions and times of the settings, so that the
story line constantly traverses the globe and doesn't stay long in any
particular time or place. But early man was mostly in Africa, so the first
settings cluster there. This time the middle settings tended to cluster around
Europe, and sometimes it was not possible to space them out without losing the
variety of experience I was also trying for. For example, Chapters 14 and 15
were both in western Asia, set only forty years apart. One related to the
terrible bubonic plague, and the other to a special event in Mongol history;
who would have thought they overlapped in space/ time? But they did, so I
played it through as it was. Chapters 17 and 18 both occur in France, though
almost 300 years apart; I wanted the minuet and the Maginot Line, and could
not escape France, though I tried.
I was going to show how ancient the making of cloth must be. But there is no
record of truly primitive cloth; I believe it existed, but without proof, my
case is weak. So I had to hedge. However, after I completed the

novel, evidence of 27,000 year old weaving at a site in the Czech Republic was
published in Discover magazine, and its evident sophistication suggested that
it had developed a long time before that. So I think my thesis is on the way
to being documented. I was going to show my character Sam always doing
construction, on roads, walls, buildings, fortifications, and the like, but so
much of the novel is before any real building was done that I had to find
other employments for him. By the time there was real building, the
complications of scheduling other characters prevented me from having Sam as
the protagonist. So while things did not fall apart, they did get somewhat
muddled in terms of my original notions. I could manipulate history only so
far, to fit the needs of my characters.
More and more evidence has been appearing to indicate that mankind came to the
western hemisphere long before the traditional date of 12,000 years ago. In
the prior novels, I deemed the evidence insufficient, but this time I
scheduled a major chapter showing how it could have been. But after I wrote
that chapter, more evidence appeared on the other side, invalidating some of
my basis. The early stone arrow and spear points -- that it was thought only
man's hand could have chipped -- turn out to have been chipped by falling off

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a cliff onto a particular surface. The chipping may indeed date from 35,000
years ago, but required no hand of man. So were there really people in the
Americas 33,000 years ago? There could have been, but I fear there were not.
For Chapter 8 I had something really special in mind: the Sphinx. I got a
video that indicated that the Sphinx in Egypt was actually far older than the
pyramids. The reasoning was that the Sphinx showed patterns of weathering that
had to have been caused by water erosion. How could that be, in the dry
desert? Well, 10,000 years ago the Sahara was a good deal wetter than it is
today; in fact there were several major rivers through it. So the Sphinx must
have been made back then. The video was persuasive, so I had my researcher,
Alan, view it. But he was a real spoilsport, unconvinced. He pointed out
reasons that it wasn't so. The problem with Alan is that he's usually right;
he has messed up any number of my bright notions, so that I have had to stick
with reality. Since this series is history, not fantasy, regardless what the
publisher may put on the cover, that's just as well. So my setting of the
carving of the Sphinx 10,000 years ago, with all that implied for the true
nature of early Egyptian history, had to be ditched. Ned was going to be a
designer, getting that great figure right. Wona was going to be attracted to
him because of that importance. What was there left to write about, in that
region then, with the Sphinx gone? Well, as it turned out, there were artistic
works of mankind dating from the Sahara region at that time. So it was a much
less dramatic setting, but historical, as it seems the early Sphinx was not.
Next the Ice Man, in Chapter 9. Ah, the Ice Man! I tracked him from his
discovery in the mountain glacier, knowing I would write about him, waiting
eagerly for the book about him to be published, reading articles about him.
And he came through nicely. He was named Otzi in Europe, so I went along with
that. Ongoing research required me to substantially revise the chapter, after
the first draft; I was unable to have the story line I first tried, because it
wouldn't have made sense in terms of what was known of the times. Again,
history was pushing me around. After I finished the revised story, more was
discovered and published, starting to invalidate some of the bases of my
setting. Too bad; I can't endlessly rewrite as interpretations change. I
worked from the best available evidence and theory at the time. Later
indications suggest that he was not a mere shepherd, perhaps instead being a
metal-smith, but the final verdict is not yet in. So did he have a nice
daughter named Snow? Who can say? He was surely a family man of some kind, and
could have been as I portray him. I couldn't spare him his fate, but at least
I could save his daughter.
In each of the GEODYSSEY novels I have tried to have significant

chapters at the one-quarter, one-half, and three-quarter marks, with the major
one in the center. Thus Catal Huyuk in the first one, one of the world's
earliest cities, likely origin of the later Sumerian culture of Mesopotamia.
Thus the Philistines from the Greek culture in the second one, giving the
primitive wandering Hebrews a hand up toward civilization and receiving no
gratitude in return. And the Greeks themselves in this volume. I resisted
getting into the standard classical cultures, because of my aversion to the
ignorant standard view of civilization, wherein it starts with Egypt, flowers
in Greece, and was spread by Rome and then lost before being revived by modern
western Europe. What of Asia, Africa, early America? There was a hell of a lot
more going on in the world than the standard texts knew of, and I have tried
to show it in these volumes. But though classical history was by no means all
there was, neither was it insignificant. So, reluctantly, I have come to it in
this volume, and discovered lo! it is interesting too. But what dragged me
into it was not my sense of fairness, but rather my fascination with the
trireme or trieres, the triple-decker rowing ships. When I was in school, they
didn't know how these were managed. Now they have figured it out, though no
actual vessel has been recovered. There were even four- and five-decker ships.
So could a tomboy girl have found work on a trieres? Who can say she did not,

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in that position of pipeman, that required a sense of beat and music rather
than heavy muscle? Especially when the ship is captained by Ittai, a good
seafarer from the prior volume, and guarded by Kettle, a simple but honest
former slave from the first volume? And so, from my childhood curiosity about
a three-tiered ship came the longest story of the first three volumes, a
48,000 word short novel in itself, featuring travel, battle, conscience, work,
plague, challenge, and love. I made my fortune on funny fantasy, but this
historical adventure is closer to my heart. Even so, there was more to be
known than I could compass. Everything from the nature of threshing grain to
weaving tapestry. So I slid by some things without going into much detail,
keeping the story moving. It is too easy to get lost in the marvelous detail,
and lose the living animation of the cultures which is my main purpose. And
naturally, after I had carefully structured and written the chapter, my
researcher discovered that I had an error in the sequencing; the Spartan siege
and the onset of the plague came not in the fall, as I originally had it, but
in the spring. So I had to make significant adjustments, hoping that my
narrative still made sense. Chapter 11, with Petra, I wanted to show in the
prior volume. But I already had too many settings around the Mediterranean
Sea, so substituted a Japanese setting. So Petra is in this volume -- which is
even more concentrated on the Eurasian theater. I had to juggle chapters to
make it fit, even so, which made my ongoing family relations tricky. But what
a grand vision Petra turned out to be, with its temples carved into the faces
of cliffs. I couldn't show all of them, because some had not yet been
constructed at the time of this setting, but it was still impressive. I had
expected it to follow the British Boudica, but the dates didn't quite mesh. I
had no idea that it would overlap the Biblical King Herod, or how intriguing
that intrigue would be. The fact is, anywhere in history is fascinating; it
has just to be sampled, and the glory and skullduggery appear. What a louse
Herod is! He gets into the sack with his niece, and decides to kill his wife,
not to mention that business with the plattered head of a critic named John,
and execution by torture of a mystic named Jesus.
And Queen Boudica, in Chapter 12, spelled as our research indicates is
authentic. I had read about her decades ago, but was reminded of it by an ad
for silver coins dating from that period. So I did what I love: I got into the
actual guts of it, and learned what had actually happened. The supposedly
civilized Romans acted with stunning barbarism, publicly stripping and
flogging the queen and raping her young daughters. Exactly how young is not
known, but they could have been children. Rome was lucky not to have lost

Britain as a result of that caper. But if there was anything the Romans could
do well, it was fight battles; they had discipline like none seen before. So
they kept Britain. But what was I to do with Wildflower, the queen's younger
daughter? She disappeared, nameless, in history, after her awful experience.
So I rescued her, and she became a worthy continuing character following in
the steps of the Ice Man's daughter. I hadn't seen that coming.
Chapter 13 was a surprise. I wanted to explore the matter of the word
"slave" deriving from "Slav." It turned out to be an uncertain connection, and
difficult to illustrate fictively. But my researcher discovered the Kingdom of
Samo, unlisted in most references, and since my lead character for that
chapter was Sam, I couldn't resist. So once again the novel went in a
different direction, and perhaps not a consequential one. Yet I wonder: could
there have been a Sam? It is also tempting to conjecture that the word
"avarice," meaning extreme greed, derives from "Avar," the people who raided
Europe for its booty. Of course the Avars were only doing what every conqueror
does, including especially the Europeans when they invaded the rest of the
world. Reputation sometimes depends on whose ox is gored.
Then the Mongols. I have been fascinated with them since college. In fact,
since high school, when I discovered Coleridge's poem "Kubla Khan" and was
entranced. Conventional history largely ignores them, except when they

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threatened Europe, but they were a major factor in Asian history. They were
the ultimate conservatives: they solved the crime and welfare problems the
old-fashioned way, by slaughtering anyone who was into mischief or who would
not or could not work. It was said that after the Mongol conquest, a beautiful
virgin could travel alone with a bag of gold from Asia to Europe without being
molested. That may have been an exaggeration, but suggests the way of it.
Those in the path of the Mongols learned fear in a hurry, or they died. But I,
being of liberal bent, would not have cared to live in that society. I study
it from afar. I remembered an episode from a book I read in 1970, of a prince
who just couldn't hold on to his territory, until about the third or fourth
time after Tamerlane rescued him, he turned suddenly competent. What could
account for that? In that quarter-century curiosity of mine was the genesis of
a 32,000 word novella, wherein Wildflower finally gets her man. I found that
the later Mongols were just as shifty and treacherous as anyone else in
history. So was there an aphrodisiac herb of the type Sahara described? That
is doubtful. My earlier researches in the Arabian Nights tales acquainted me
with the rich folklore of the Moslem region, and the hyperbole used. For
example, there was the fabulous "bhang," a sleep-inducing narcotic, a strong
dose of which was said to be such that if an elephant merely sniffed it, the
creature would sleep from year to year. In that spirit I conjecture a love
potion whose potency would be mainly in the belief folk had of its nature.
Meanwhile there was the Great Chinese Wall. I sent Alan into that research,
expecting to have a setting around 221 B.C. He returned with a verdict similar
to that on the Sphinx: no can do. There was no such unified wall. What? But
all of history says -- but all of history was wrong. Again. It did not impede
the Mongol conquest of China, because it wasn't there. Most of that wall was
built in the Ming dynasty, in the sixteenth century, after the
Mongols had been expelled from China, the setting for my Chapter 16. There is
not now, and never was, a unified three thousand mile long stone wall. Only
disconnected local walls, most of which were of packed earth rather than
stone. So I learned what did not entirely please me, and now you know it too.
Is it true that the Chinese Wall is the only man-made artifact that shows from
space? No -- because it isn't there, and if it were there, it would be too
thin to be seen from such a distance. Another illusion of history bites the
dust.
Chapter 17 derives from a cute little melody I heard on the radio that started
a chain of thought: Suppose there is a meeting of enemies, the men

just about ready to fight, the women afraid the truce will come apart before
it starts, with great mutual harm. Then a child brings a scribbled bit of
music, and the musician plays it, and the women start dancing and hauling the
men in, and instead of battle there is harmony after all. Because of that new
little dance, the minuet. I remembered the minuet from the time I was hauled
in to see a first-grade presentation in which my daughter Cheryl participated.
You know the type; you have to watch and applaud so as to support your child
and the school, no matter how amateurish the production is. But when my
daughter's class performed, it was the minuet, in period costume, and I was
entranced; it was the most darling thing I had seen in years, and Cheryl was
just perfect. Those stately, mannered steps and turns -- my boredom was
transformed to wonder and delight. So, close to twenty years later, I told
Alan, "Find me that setting." We had too much of Europe, and not enough of the
New World, in this volume, so he looked in America -- and couldn't find it.
America of those days was rough frontier country; there were no fancy balls
with costumed women, and certainly not with armed men present. So we had to go
back to Europe, to the court of King Louis XIV, one of those foppish settings
I have avoided all my life. And lo, Louis turned out to be much more
interesting than I had thought, and a master of the dance and great supporter
of the arts. Later in life he was to become spoiled by power, but this was his
beginning, and he was a remarkably apt and appealing figure. So I couldn't

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have my original notion, again, but found one perhaps as worthy. So what was
the cute little tune that had set me off? It turned out to be from the movie
The Piano, a creature of quite a different nature.
Chapter 18, about the Maginot Line of France, had a similarly devious
derivation. In the 1980s I asked my literary agent of the time, Kirby
McCauley, what genres were hot, and he said High Fantasy and World War II.
Well, my fantasy might better be called low, and why should I want to mess
with World War II? After all, I was there, and my family barely got out of
Europe in time, after my father was arrested without cause by the fascist
government of Spain at the time Hitler met with Franco; Poland and France had
fallen, and England was seemingly next. We came across on the last regular
passenger boat, the Excalibur, on the same trip that the one-time king of
England, Edward VIII, took, in 1940, and I had my sixth birthday on that ship,
with a cake made of sawdust because supplies were short. What interest did I
have in World War II? Right; the question brought the answer, and in due
course I wrote my World War II novel Volk. But one of the things I had planned
to explore therein got squeezed out, by processes similar to those described
here, so I had no section featuring the Maginot Line. So I decided to show it
here. Which put me right back into France. Again.
For Chapter 19 I had in mind the Solar Stirling engine, one of a number of
intriguing developments in the arena of sustainable power. I first read of the
original Stirling engine in Scientific American decades ago, and was never
quite able to figure out how it worked, but I saw the potential in its
external combustion. When I learned of the solar variant, I went after it. The
material I got related to Sunpower Inc., a small company designing and
producing such engines. It turned out to be mind-bendingly complicated to
grasp in detail. I read the book The Next Great Thing, which was interesting
in its coverage of Sunpower's desperate efforts to make the engine work, but
not very clear on technical detail. My son in law John read it and contacted
Sunpower and got more material. Researcher Alan read it and consulted with
John, and discussed it with me. But when I presented it in the novel, I had to
simplify so drastically for clarity that most of that research was wasted.
This is the nature of research novels; some of the best material has to be
left out. But the Solar Stirling engine exists, and may indeed be a
significant aspect of the future. Of course my planned community uses proven
old technology like the hydraulic ram too, and is getting into the useful

plants hemp and kenaf, which truly do represent two of the world's best hopes
for the future production of useful fibers. The existing timber and pulp
industries managed to suppress such alternatives in the past, but as the trees
run out and the need becomes more pressing, significant changes will occur.
For the setting I chose a type of planned community that intrigued my elder
daughter Penny and me as we listened to a tape of Pete Seeger's song "The
Garden." For the sponsoring religion I used the Quakers, because I was raised
as a Quaker and profoundly respect its principles, though I elected not to
join that religion as an adult. Quakers tend to be good businessmen and
socially conscious citizens, and many are concentrated in the state of
Pennsylvania, so well could be associated with a project of this type. This is
not the first time I have had reference to the former Quaker use of "thee"; it
occurs in my unpublished World War II novel Volk and a variant is in my ADEPT
fantasy series of novels.
The cloud harvesting shown in Chapter 20 is already being done today, in the
area described; it solved the water problems of local villages in the
Andes.
So there was a good deal of misadventure, or at least changed direction, in
the course of the writing of this novel, and much of it did not go at all the
way I had anticipated. But that's the thing about writing, especially
historical fiction: the author can indeed not have it all his own way. Perhaps
that is the way it should be. The settings and the characters should have some

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say in their presentation.
I didn't have that kind of problem in the early chapters, because there is no
recorded history to align with; the social aspect is mine to invent. And while
I find the whole of history interesting, my greatest interest is in the early
aspects. I saw the significance of the lockable knees in a public service TV
program, and locked on to it immediately: such a seemingly small thing, with
such a significant effect. To be able to stride without fatiguing the legs --
a subtle but crucial change that enabled human beings to travel erect longer
with less energy, and less heating, than other hominids.
Scavenging for bone marrow was in the same program, and similarly critical; it
gave mankind a good food source where for most creatures there was nothing,
because they lacked the ability to crack open the bones. Provided he could not
only get there, but get it away from other animals: encouragement to develop
effective weapons.
But for me, the most important change was how mankind handled heat. I
was satisfied that human beings lost much of their body fur during an aquatic
phase, as shown in the two prior novels, but Alan dug up two obscure articles
that showed another theory. None of the books seemed to have it, which is odd,
because it is the most compelling argument I have seen in this particular
arena. Lose the fur, dissipate the heat that your burgeoning brain generates -
- and suddenly mankind is the naked ape. Forget the Aquatic hypothesis; this
makes sense on the open plain, where mankind was striding. It all fits
together. Alan also found evidence that there are a number of (small) holes in
the human skull that allow veinous blood to pass between the brain and the
skin. Normally it flows from the brain to the skin, but when the body is under
heat stress, it reverses, and the cooler blood of the skin flows to the brain.
The fossil record shows that the number of these channels has increased
steadily as the brain expanded.
Then the triple ploy, which is my own conjecture, based on research that
showed me scattered parts of it. Sex, love, attachment, used in sequence to
capture and hold a man who would rather be sowing his oats far more broadly.
The change of the female breasts to become not merely to feed the baby, but to
make her continuously appealing to the man. Thus the foundation of monogamy,
because now it was possible for a single woman to satisfy the continual
passion of a single man; and better for him to stay close to her than to

wander too far afield, because otherwise she could breed at any time with
someone else. In battle of the sexes, the man became larger and stronger and
possessed of more physical ambition, but the woman became the major ongoing
object of his desire. The downside was that this led also to prostitution and
rape, because the woman could not readily turn off her sex appeal. But
overall, it seems likely that even today a woman would rather live without a
man, were she otherwise provided for, than a man without a woman. She has what
he wants. Even the most intelligent, independent, or least scrupulous men
still fall for the triple ploy.
There is also my answer to the reason for mankind's burgeoning brain, the
largest known in the animal kingdom, relative to body size. He had already
established his niche in the world, and was no longer in danger of extinction
because of starvation or predation by panthers. It seems likely that the
development of vocabulary and language was the engine that powered that
expansion -- but why was it necessary? That monstrous brain was a phenomenally
expensive burden, forcing significant changes in all the rest of his body and
life; why balance such a delicate albatross on the top of his precariously
erect body? Because mankind's main competition now was either his own kind, or
a near relative. He was in a mental arms race, and he who was slightly stupid
lost out. This race continued until modern man developed linguistic tools as
potent in their fashion as locked knees and hand weapons had been in theirs:
syntax and high-velocity speech. These enabled modern man to accomplish more,
verbally, with less actual brain, than Homo erectus could manage. That

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translated into better planning and organization, superior tools and weapons,
and coordinated drives to achieve long-range objectives. Neither Homo erectus
nor his offshoot Neandertal man could compete. But though the modern brain is
not the largest ever, it remains a giant compared to that of any other
creature.
And art, that enabled mankind to form larger and thus more powerful groups
without as much internal dissent. If there is anything that defines mankind,
aside from his intelligence, it is art. No other creature we know of even
cares about it. Every human culture has its art, and many past cultures have
left dramatic artistic monuments.
So the things that I hope made an impression in this volume are locked knees,
bone marrow scavenging, the brain/heat/fur-loss/clothing connection, the
triple ploy, the arms race, and the art/numbers connection. Thereafter it's
mostly history, wherein the nuances of the creature's vast potentials are
constantly played out. I hope you have found that worthwhile too.
And where is this history leading? To disaster, as I see it. Mankind's
burgeoning brain enabled him to conquer the world, and his continuing interest
in reproduction enabled him to overpopulate it. Panthers may have limited his
population in the early days, but they have long since been nullified. No
natural limit seems to exist. Now it seems that only mankind can limit
mankind's population, and that isn't happening. Except -- one of the seemingly
conquered predators is returning. Disease. It is taking the place of the
panthers. Through history it was always formidable. The plagues of Athens and
other cities, and the bubonic plague, are only samples of an ongoing and
deadly threat. There is also war, wherein the human creature's most formidable
enemy is other human beings. Over the millennia various ways have been tried
to protect communities from attack by other communities, without perfect
success. Isolation and defense did not save the Ice Man's village from
destruction, and might not have saved the community of Dreams, but for a
special circumstance. Massive linear walls and defenses saved neither the
Chinese nor the French. As long as there are too many people for the available
resources, neither isolation nor defense lines can suffice. Mankind's refusal
to take reasonable precautions, to discipline itself, is leading to an
infinitely more brutal discipline by nature, and by mankind itself.

Because GEODYSSEY is a series, I try to have characters from prior novels
appear in later novels, though each book has its own primary cast. Did you
recognize them? Bub from Shame of Man raped Flo in Chapter 1. This time
Blaze from Isle of Woman appeared in Chapter 4. Ember appeared in Chapter 5,
with her husband Scorch and baby Crystal. I try to show such prior characters
at the age they were in the historical time of the particular setting, but
this can be tricky, because Blaze and Ember aged four years per chapter, while
Hugh and Anne from Shame of Man aged only one year per chapter. Thus Blaze and
Ember aged about seventy years in the course of human history, while Hugh and
Anne aged only about twenty years. Sam, Flo, and the other siblings of Hope of
Earth aged only about six months between chapters, or about a decade in the
full novel. Thus when the characters of different novels interact, they do so
at different ages. Blaze was ten in Chapter 4, while Ember, who paralleled
him, was fourteen in Chapter 5. This is especially tricky in the case of Mina,
the foundling who turns out to be Flo's lost baby; she aligns with this novel
here, and ages at a different rate in the prior one. As I tried to clarify in
the Introduction, the people are not really the same, nor are they strictly
the descendants of those in earlier chapters; they are essentially similar
types that appear throughout all human history. At any rate, Crockson, who is
mentioned in Chapter 9 and appears in Chapter 10, is from Woman, and Ittai as
already mentioned is from Man, while Kettle is from Woman. Guillaume,
Jacques's commanding officer in Chapter 18, is the French version of Bill
(William) from Man, the intelligent one, whose son Bille will later meet and
love Mina. "Bil" actually first appeared in Chapter 3, along with his band

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leader Joe, also from Man. He appears again in Chapter 19, with his wife Fay
and daughter Faience. Min appears again in Chapter 20, as Minne, with a
problem of age because of the different time lines. But because all the
characters live their full lives in each of their settings, Min can be nine
years old in this novel though she was closer to fourteen at this time in the
prior novel. Bub also appears again. How can he be a leader of raiders here,
when he had other roles in the prior novel? Because these characters are
actually representations of types, appearing all over the world all through
human history, doing different things in different situations. The real unity
in the series is its background: the phenomenally rich course of human
experience.
So will the real human history lead to cannibalism, as in Woman, or in
exhaustion of resources, as in Man, or in disease, as in Earth? I fear that if
it does not, it still will be supremely unpleasant. If we don't take warning
and do something to change course very soon. I hope we do. Our knowledge and
intelligence and plain common sense should enable us to avoid destruction and
become the true hope of Earth -- if we choose to apply them.

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